All the Dead Lie Down
by ForeseeObstacles
Summary: Amelia and her sister Clementine escaped Savannah two years ago, and have been alone since. They're still haunted by the memories of their first group when they meet another group of survivors in a cabin in the woods. A complete rewrite of Telltale's TWD Season Two, from the perspective of Clementine's older sister. All reviews are welcome.
1. After

The _tops of crags and cliffs, the air is thin_

 _So we'll find a mountain path on down the hill_

Eyes open. Eyes close. Open. Couldn't see. The light was too bright. Blinding. Painful to look at. _Look away._ Breathe. Trying to breathe but –

 _Meet me where the snow melt flows_

 _It is there, my dear, where we'll begin again_

Amelia stirred, consciousness coming back to her slowly, slowly. Creeping back into her, waking her up with a pounding head and tingling fingertips when she felt with every inch of her body that she'd rather stay down. Pulling her back to what she knew, even half-conscious, was a wretched, miserable excuse of a world that paled in comparison to her dreams, which had been much more pleasant. Empty. Void. But still miles better than the place she'd left when she fell asleep.

Was asleep the right word?

Try again. Breathe in-

Couldn't. Didn't know why.

Light from above let her see shapes in front of her, blurred beyond recognition without even colors to help her tell the blurs apart. She wondered briefly if it was because she couldn't see them or because there weren't any. Nothing moved. The room was silent. Wherever she was, she was alone. _Try again._ Her breath got caught, snared by something in her windpipe, something blocking the way. Something deep in her chest wouldn't allow air to pass in or out and she felt a sickening, painful twist roll up from the pit of her stomach –

She threw herself forward onto her knees – she didn't get far, she realized, because her right arm had been restrained – and retched. Something heavy and vile came out of her. It was the color of molasses, and just as thick. It gathered in a puddle that began to spread, soaking into the knees of her pants. Her cough was wet and stubborn. Something was in her lungs, her stomach, she didn't fucking know. She didn't know anything other than that it _wouldn't get out_. She was struck with a sudden fear that she'd never get it out, that she was going to die here-

-didn't she already do that?-

-on the floor, handcuffed to a radiator and suffocating with lungs full of tar.

She puked again. Acid burned a trail from her stomach to her throat, lighting her entire body on fire in its wake. She coughed again, so hard she started shaking. The sound she made was raw and desperate and with one final retch she threw up the last of what was inside of her and took a deep, shuddering breath, her gratitude for it bringing tears to her eyes. She shook, and cried, her breath violent and ragged. She felt empty, not just of the poison that had been inside her but of everything, period. She felt hollow. As close to nonexistent as she'd ever felt in her life. All she knew was pain, and confusion, and vague relief.

She rocked back on her heels, and immediately failed to keep her balance and fell back against the wall. Her muscles screamed with every move, louder and harder when she hit the wall. They burned, she realized. Like something volatile and searing-hot was running through her veins. A sharp pain in her head made her think that someone must have hit her with a blunt object, before she realized the pain was internal. A throbbing fist pounding on the inside of her skull while she numbly took in the empty room around her. A jewelry store, if she had to guess. Or what was left of one.

No. _Asleep_ was not the right word.

Words came back to her, a frantic train of memories colliding with her damaged brain. Familiar faces and her own words all recurring in a bright and terrible flashbulb.

 _"-you have to go, Clem-"_

 _"-no! Please come with me-"_

 _"-keep that hair short-"_

 _"-please don't be one of them-"_

 _"-have to find Christa and-"_

 _"-I love you…so much-"_

 _"Don't be afraid."_

Amelia sat up with enough force that her cuffed wrist jerked against the radiator. The clang echoed against the concrete floors as she audibly gasped, falling prey to the slow, cruel realization that she was far, far too late. She heard walkers and smelled blood that the pain in her side told her belonged to her, that she should do something about it but-

"Clem." Her heart had picked up, adrenaline making her jittery, anxious, irritable. Giving her too much energy and an irresistible urge – no, a _need_ – to burn it off before it drove her insane. She said it again, louder and more pleading, as if sounding more desperate would do the trick. As if Clementine would come back through the door in the security booth, and give her a hug despite the muck all over her clothes, and tell her she had nothing to worry about, nothing to be afraid of because she never left. "Clem?"

But the world didn't work like that. Reality didn't respond to desperation like that, didn't take mercy on people with nothing left but instead took it as the perfect opportunity to finish them off.

She had to get out. Now.


	2. Remains

The wood wasn't burning. Twenty minutes of poking and prodding had made it very clear that they weren't getting a fire that night. Clementine huddled on the other side of the fire pit, gripping the arms of her jacket as though it would keep her warm. Amelia tried again to stir the fire, gave up, and sighed; her breath clouded the air in front of her face. They'd skewered the only animal they'd been able to trap, and were failing to cook it in the wisps of smoke coming from the fire pit. All Amelia could say about it with certainty was that it was a mammal…of some kind. Clem had ventured a guess that it was a weasel.

The wood was soaked. It wouldn't catch fire anytime soon. This wasn't a new problem. She'd have burned one of her socks, if she hadn't used both of them to start fires earlier in the week. She ran through a mental list of other things they might be able to burn, and ended up dismissing them all. She thought about burning the fur in her hood, a glove, a part of her shirt sleeve…but when they were this far north, with winter hitting them as hard as it was, the only things more valuable than fire were the clothes on their backs. There had to be something else.

"It's okay." Clementine said, though she shivered as she spoke, making her voice shudder slightly. "I can wait."

She was always so patient. It worried Amelia sometimes. Patience had its uses. But passivity like Clementine's could easily get her killed; Amelia feared that it would one day.

 _She wasn't passive when she shot that stranger in the head. Saved your life._

This happened often. Somewhere along the way she'd developed a voice, a quiet part of her mind that waited for the most opportune moments to remind her of things she'd deliberately tried to forget. They were sixteen months and two hundred miles away from that night in Savannah. Far out of that nightmare and well into another. But that didn't mean she could forget, hard as she tried.

"You should be the one doing this. You need the practice." Amelia spoke to Clementine over her shoulder. She tried again to stir the dying fire. It dimmed a little more and she shook her head.

 _Maybe I'm the one who needs practice._

"I know." Clementine said. "I tried."

She had. They'd set up their camp before sundown to leave plenty of time to start a fire. The sun was too low to use the mirror, and they'd burned out their last battery days ago. That left Clem with a piece of flint and a rock. After an hour of failure, after night fell and the temperature dropped, Amelia stepped in and did it for her.

"Maybe Wellington isn't a good idea." Amelia muttered, wishing she'd been quieter only after she'd said it.

"I thought you said it was safe there," Clementine looked up too quickly.

Amelia didn't know it was safe there. She only knew what she'd overheard from people she didn't engage with, what she'd seen scrawled across the walls at safe houses and train stops they'd passed. Go to Wellington, they said. She'd expected that Clementine would have figured out the truth by now: that Amelia had no idea what she was doing. At least no more so than anyone else trying to survive in what was left of the world. While it had been understandable when she was eight, Clementine was getting too old to think that Amelia could divine the answers to their problems from nothing.

Amelia was afraid that if she told her that, then her sister would feel as lost and clueless as she did. Only one of them needed to feel that way. It would happen, eventually. A gradual truth that would dawn on her gently one day. Until then, Amelia had decided, she'd stick with simple truths. Things she could be sure about. And she'd never promise more than she could deliver. Not again.

" _You…you lied to me about…about Mom and Dad…?"_

Never again.

"No place is safe." she said. "Only safer than where we came from."

"Oh. Right." Clementine said quietly. After a moment of silence, she suggested, "Then…that means all we have to do is keep moving."

"That's true. We don't have to push north. It'll only get colder and I like our chances better in the south." They would never go back to Savannah-

 _-dead Mom dead Dad dead Ben dead Kenny-_

or Atlanta. Any city, for that matter, was out of the question. But going back south was starting to looking like a better idea with every rain-soaked, freezing night that passed.

Clementine lowered her voice. The statement was quick and resentful; the start of an argument, should Amelia take the bait.

"I bet we could make it if we had another group."

Amelia sighed heavily and circled the fire pit, stopping to crouch on the other side. Not that poking at it from a different angle would do the fire any good. She looked up at her sister through the dwindling trail of smoke.

"You know why we can't do that, Clementine." She tried to keep the harshness out of her voice; a difficult task when they'd had this argument before. Each time it ended, Amelia had made it clear that she didn't want it to come up again. But once again, here they were.

"I know what you told me." Clementine stared at the dead weasel. The way they'd skinned it and carved out its eyes had left it looking eerily sinister. But no more so than the dead things they encountered daily.

"Then we don't need to start this again." Amelia said dismissively.

Clementine stared out into the trees, seemingly at nothing. The silence gave her a moment to gather her courage. Amelia saw a familiar look in her eyes when she spoke again.

"I think you're wrong." Clementine said. "I think we need to find people to stay with."

Amelia smiled, careful not to let her see. She was happy to see this side of Clementine again. On rare occasions her little sister stood her ground and left all passivity behind. Being reminded that Clementine wasn't afraid to stand up to her gave her hope that she wouldn't be afraid when more dangerous situations – more dangerous people – called for it.

She shook her head and explained calmly: "People are more of a risk than they're worth."

"How can you say that?"

Clementine didn't understand, and Amelia didn't know what to make of it. She didn't know whether it meant Clementine didn't remember the worst days they'd had, the ones that taught Amelia the lessons she was trying to teach her sister the easy way. Or if it meant she didn't think of them the way Amelia did. That they didn't scare her as much. Hadn't come as close to breaking her as they had Amelia.

"You never know who you can't trust, Clem. Not until it's too late." Amelia tossed a handful of brush into the fire, ignoring the prodding sense that telling her sister simple truths without explanation was about to become an old act. Clementine was outgrowing it.

"You said we needed numbers to be safe. Remember?"

She did. She remembered saying those exact words to an eight-year-old Clem, back at the motor inn in Macon and-

 _-"Duck's been bitten"-_

-was surprised that Clem remembered them verbatim.

"That was a long time ago. I was wrong. We're safer alone than we are with other people."

"What about Chuck?" Clementine suddenly went quiet again. "And Omid?"

Amelia lacked an answer. A good one, at least. Their small camp suddenly became very quiet, and they listened to crickets chirping while they waited for the silence to blow over.

"They were exceptions. Meeting two good people doesn't mean we can trust everyone." Or anyone.

Clementine sighed. It was a familiar mannerism that usually meant she was letting the matter drop, for now.

Amelia stood by what she'd said. The risk they would take in joining a new group wasn't worth their lives. That's how it would end – with both of them dead. She didn't want to believe that there were no good people left, but she couldn't change the reality she'd become acquainted with, excessively and painfully so. It had been beaten into her in more ways than one, a lesson she'd never forget because the penalty for doing so was death. The "good people" had been killed off in one way or another, almost always because of things they weren't willing to do. She'd seen it happen, seemingly on a loop, a nightmare from which there was no waking up. It was an unending slideshow of infections, shootings, walker attacks, and more than a few things she never wanted to think about again.

 _-growin' up in rural Georgia, you're taught not to waste-_

There was nothing to wonder about with walkers. They always went for the kill, and they always did it from the front.

Clementine spoke up again, unexpectedly: "If we had a group, you might be able to tell someone about…" She paused, clearly trying to find the right words. "…what you did in Savannah?"

Amelia only blinked. This, Clementine had never brought up. Not once in over a year, not since the first time Amelia explained it to her. She didn't know how to answer.

"What…" Amelia cleared her throat. "Why…would we do that?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I think someone should know, eventually. What if you're not the only one?"

Amelia had to admit that the same thought had occurred to her, many times. If an entire group of people had this in common, they might be able to change things. She'd never heard talk of a cure before. But it was a start, and better than nothing.

Amelia couldn't find much else to say. "Maybe." Her way of shooting it down without any reason to.

She looked back to Clementine and fought the anxiety that came with watching her huddle and shiver. Burning more clothes wasn't a good idea. She decided to sweep the forest again for something flammable; if she didn't find anything, she'd cut the hood off of her jacket.

"I'm going to look for something to burn. Keep the fire lit." She didn't want to put Clem under any pressure. But their options for starting another fire were exhausted. The fire they had was small and pathetic, but it was the only one they would get that night.

Clementine nodded her understanding. The worried look on her face said she was under pressure anyway.

Amelia crouched near the hollow log she and Clementine had hidden their backpacks in. She took the pistol they shared and held it out to her, gripping it by the barrel. "Don't use it unless you need to. We don't need the noise." She'd said this countless times before. At this point it was more to make herself feel better than to instruct Clementine. Leaving her alone for any amount of time was never easy for her. She'd started to feel that Clementine understood this. It was probably why she tolerated Amelia's sudden need to tell her things that were common sense to the both of them.

Clementine only nodded again, took the gun, and immediately checked that the safety was on.

Amelia pulled her yellow climbing axe from her bag and attached it to the strap on her back. Not hers, specifically. Each time she used it, she thought to herself that if she ever saw its original owner again, she'd give it back. The thought was always followed closely by a grim reminder that it would probably never happen.

"Watch the trees. Stay quiet, listen for footsteps…" Amelia walked slowly out of their clearing and toward the trees. "Call if you need me, okay?" _I'll come running._

"I will." Clementine began searching her backpack, probably for her lighter.

Amelia didn't move.

Clementine saw her hesitate, and nodded reassuringly. "I'll be fine. I promise. I'll be right here when you get back."

Amelia nodded in return, feeling no less uneasy, and headed into the forest.

She used to enjoy quiet walks at night. They gave her time to think, away from all the noise that came with being around other people. But things were different now. Now it only meant that she was alone in a far deeper sense of the word. Dark forests, empty warehouses, rotting tunnels. These were the temporary homes of her and Clementine's new life. This _was_ their life now, and it wasn't showing any signs of changing.

She wondered how Clementine felt about it. They hadn't had much time to talk about things like that lately.

 _That's not a good enough reason._

She knew it wasn't. It wasn't completely honest, either. There was no such thing as "not enough time." Not anymore. Amelia knew she was avoiding the conversation – and every conversation like it – for reasons other than that. Reasons that had more to do with herself.

 _Ask her when you get back to the camp_. Whether she would actually help or make things worse remained to be seen. She worried about the emotional state of any eleven-year-old who's seen the things Clem had, and worried even more that she couldn't do anything to help her.

A branch snapped beneath a footstep that was not hers.

Shit.

She heard voices. Two…three of them. Maybe more. All male.

Shit, shit, _shit._

She heard them coming from more than one direction but didn't see them until she turned around and met the gun in her face, staring directly down the black hole of a barrel about to blow a hole in her forehead.

A large man with a mop of curly brown hair held the gun to her and told her not to move. She turned around slowly to see two more emerge from the trees – a hooded black man armed with a pistol, and a lanky white man carrying a blood-stained machete on his belt.

"I told you not to move!" said the first man. "Turn around. Don't fucking test me!"

She did as she was told, and he took the climbing axe from her back, tossing it onto the ground too far away for her to reach it. Not that it would've done her any good.

"Where did you come from?" The lanky one demanded. He took the machete from his belt and Amelia knew he meant it as a threat. "Where are the people you're with?"

She didn't answer. She looked over her shoulder and slowly turned so that she didn't have her back to any of them. She took a cautious step back to gain some distance and-

"Bitch, are you _fucking kidding me?_ " the man with the brown hair snarled. "We asked you a question!"

"I'm alone," Her eyes darted between the three of them. Only two guns. The third man didn't seem armed.

"Cut the shit." The man in the hood put his gun in her face. She stared down the barrel and, like a deer in headlights, mentally froze. Numbly, she repeated herself. "I'm alone."

They all seemed to speak over each other, escalating a vicious verbal assault that would turn physical any second now. She didn't keep track of what was coming from who. Didn't speak because she knew not one of them would listen.

"Don't fucking lie to us!"

"Who do you think you're fooling?"

"You fucking with us?"

" _Where's the rest of your group_?"

"Give us the truth and you won't get hurt!"

She didn't believe that for a second. She'd learned a long time ago that anyone could declare themselves capable of restraint; it was almost never true.

"Okay!" Amelia shouted to be heard over their threats. "My group has a camp-" she pointed north, toward the river and away from Clementine. "-just over there."

"How many people?"

"There are six of us."

None of them lowered their weapons or looked even remotely convinced. The man wearing the hood lowered his gun. He placed it in the holster strapped to his thigh and crossed his arms.

"Yeah? What are their names?"

"...we don't have anything worth stealing."

" _Tell us. Their fucking. Names."_

Amelia tried to keep an eye on the other two. The brunette man still had his gun pointed at her chest. "Kenny-"

 _-torn apart by walkers-_

"-and his wife, Katjaa-"

– _blew her own brains out-_

"-and their son."

 _-I shot him in the head-_

"And…and my friends, Doug-"

 _-eaten alive in a drugstore-_

"And Carley."

 _"She couldn't be trusted. I was trying to protect all of us."_

The three men exchanged skeptical looks, and it dawned on Amelia that they wouldn't believe the truth if she gave it to them. They didn't want the truth. They wanted to hurt someone and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Bullshit." said the man with the machete. "This is fucking bullshit." His friends clearly agreed. "You expect us to believe-"

A rock the size of a baseball made a beeline through the air, hitting him square in the eye. He screamed, recoiled, and doubled over before Amelia realized where it had come from.

 _No._

"Amelia! Run!" Clementine shouted from a distance.

 _No!_ The one thing Amelia had needed was for her to stay out of this.

The lanky man recovered from the blow to the face, holding his bleeding eye socket and cursing through his teeth. "Hey!" Machete in hand, he took off after Clementine, who had disappeared into the forest.

" _No!"_ Amelia tried to follow him until the hooded man threw out an arm and clotheslined her to the ground. Her back hit the forest floor and the impact knocked the air from her lungs. He hooked a thick bicep around her neck and pulled her to her feet in a headlock.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" the man with the brown hair angrily came toward her, trying to grab her legs while she kicked desperately at nothing. Amelia gripped the forearm beneath her chin and tilted her head up, trying to find breathing room where there was none.

 _No no no no no no not Clementine…_

She had to catch up to them. She had to get to him before he got to her. She would kill him, she would kill him with her hands and teeth if she had to...

 _Oh, God, what is he going to do to her?_

She started to feel lightheaded; the man was choking her out, and wasn't about to ease up. Her stomach turned when it occurred to her that if they wanted her dead, they'd have shot her. They wanted her unconscious. That, or they wanted to kill her with bare hands instead of the guns they had easily within reach. Both were sickening.

The man in front of her got a firm hold on her left leg and trapped it under his arm. He bent to catch the other one and Amelia landed a clean, forceful kick to his face. A sharp _crack_ resounded through the forest and he stumbled back, holding his broken nose and howling.

"You little _bitch!_ " he snarled at her through the blood gushing over his mouth and lunged for her. He reached high, so she swung her leg low, into his gut. He doubled over and Amelia put all of her lower body strength into kicking off of the ground and into the air, hoping to throw the man behind her off balance. He bent backwards slightly but didn't fall to the ground like she'd hoped; the difference in height and body weight was too much. Bright spots lit up her vision, throbbing in time to her pulse pounding away inside her head.

She tried again, gasping for air and throwing all of her weight into his upper body. The man only took a few steps back to regain his balance, then tightened his grip on her neck. The pressure was becoming unbearable; her heart was beating mercilessly in her head and she was convinced with each new pulse that this would be the one to crack her skull from the inside.

"Come here!" the other man growled, grabbing her legs and lifting her off the ground. "God damn it, stop fighting!"

Out of leverage and out of air, Amelia felt the familiar choke that came from holding back tears.

 _He's going to kill my little sister and I don't know what to do…_

And in that moment she thought back, and she remembered, and she understood. A sudden clarity, a saving grace from a God she'd stopped believing in. There was no time to kick herself for taking this long to get it.

She reached down for the man's thigh, grabbing uncoordinated, messy handfuls of denim, of leather, of nothing and more nothing until she found his holster. She closed her hand around the grip and before she knew it the familiar weight of a loaded gun in her hands had her feeling vengeful, unforgiving, _fucking mean_. Immediately she was reeling, riding a high-pitched head rush, all anger and no control, all violence and no remorse. She pointed it in the face of the man who had her legs-

 _-die-_

-and fired once. The first of many, should she get the chance.

His eyes widened and he spit out the words " _Oh shit-"_ He moved just enough to take the bullet in his shoulder. He screamed and collapsed, and as he did she put another round in his leg, not for him or for even for Clementine, but for her.

Amelia turned the gun down and fired again, into the hooded man's kneecap, and through all the chaos in her head and in her heart, one thought came through with perfect clarity-

 _I hope I fucking blew it off._

Then she was falling, falling and landing hard on her shoulder. Air rushed into her chest and she gasped, coughing and inhaling in ragged, desperate breaths. Her vision was suddenly filled with swimming colors and she couldn't see past them. She pushed herself up and turned to face the two wounded men, about to fire a blind shot and hope she killed someone. The man she'd shot in the knee swung a rock into her head before she had a chance to lift the gun, sending her back down into the mud.

She tried to crawl but he was on her before she knew what was happening. Hands closed around her throat, warm blood seeped from her forehead, into her eye, down her cheek, cursing and anger and _I'll fucking kill you_ and she'd lost the gun and could only feel empty grass in her outstretched hand, _where is it where is it_ -

She looked up into his face, ugly and twisted in animalistic rage, and spit a mouthful of blood and saliva into his eye, hard.

" _Fuck!"_ He flinched, releasing her neck with one hand to wipe his face. Amelia rolled underneath him. She didn't get far, but she got far enough. She found the handle of her climbing axe, picking up a handful of grass and mud with it. She screamed in rage, desperation, and exertion as she swung the sharper of the two ends into his temple. His arms fell, his face went blank, his eyes hollow. He fell and Amelia got to her knees, pulling the blade from his head with a gut-wrenching suction sound she'd hoped never to hear again.

She stood up on buckling legs and found the gun, a few feet away from where she'd been pinned. She picked it up and turned her attention to the brown-haired man, who hadn't gotten far. He writhed on the ground, pressing a hand to the gushing wound his shoulder, and looked up at her with hatred in his eyes.

His voice trembled as he spat, "Fuck…y-..."

Amelia put the gun on his head and pulled the trigger. Clean shot, messy aftermath. The force knocked him flat onto his back; skull and grey matter painted the ground behind him.

She strapped her axe to her back, checked the magazine, and ran in the direction the last man had chased her sister.

She had one bullet left, and it was for him.

Her head pounded with every step she took until the pain forced her to slow to a stop. She ran a hand over her forehead – it came away red and slick, blood dripping down her forearm and disappearing inside her jacket sleeve.

Her thoughts were slow. Her own inner voice was sedated and faint. Quiet, for once.

… _that's…a lot of blood…that's…that's too much blood…_

She already regretted trying to run without giving herself a few minutes to recover, but she didn't have time. Clementine was somewhere in this direction, Clementine needed her. She had to…catch up…

The Earth turned itself on its side, shifting beneath her feet until she was on the ground. She tried to sit up but was too disoriented to keep her balance; she fell again, falling flat on her back and staring up at the night sky. Stars blurred in and out of focus, and the ground seemed to undulate slowly beneath her, rocking her to sleep in a fading world that was suddenly soft, dreamy, and gentle.


	3. Lost Girls

_Think of all the roads_

 _"You got that ride to Macon if you want it."_

 _Think of all their crossings_

 _"There are worse places to call home."_

 _Taking steps is easy_

 _"Listen, I'm not much for goodbyes. Tell the others for me?"_

 _Standing still is hard_

 _"It was me. I was the one giving the bandits supplies."_

 _Remember all their faces_

 _"I know how to be a dad, you know."_

 _Remember all their voices_

 _"Ask not for whom the bell tolls…"_

 _Everything is different_

 _"It's how the world works now."_

 _The second time around_

 _"I love you...so much_. _"_

Amelia stirred, turning over in the dirt and groaning at the throbbing pain in her head. She took it slowly, coming up to her knees, then standing. She put a hand to her forehead and felt a gash that ran out from her hairline and almost reached her eyebrow, swollen and crusted over with mud. There was a faint ringing in her left ear. She remembered the last time she passed out unconscious, and the morning that followed, and reminded herself that there were worse ways to wake up.

She looked out toward the river, which she knew wouldn't be far once she passed through the trees. The forest was quiet enough that she could hear the water rushing, behind the sounds of singing birds and fluttering wings.

She took a few wobbly steps and fell back to her knees. Back on all fours, she struck the ground with a mud-covered fist. Everything was still spinning and _she didn't have time for this._ She'd already wasted enough. Probably too much.

There it was again. The unwelcome surge of adrenaline, the jittery hands, the crippling sense of terror and urgency. The anxiety of knowing the likelihood that Clem was already dead couldn't be ignored. Only pushed away to come back another time.

Amelia took off toward the sound of rushing water.

* * *

Clementine had fallen into the river. It wasn't hard to find the exact point at which it had happened. Clem had left her a trail, in one way or another. Broken branches, tracks in the mud, and two walker corpses had led her to the river bank, which was littered with small footprints, handprints, and clear drag marks where she'd tumbled over the edge. It looked like she'd gone backwards. Probably headfirst.

She stared at the tracks, climbing axe in hand, listening to walkers moaning in the background of her focus and feeling panic rise inside her. For a few moments she thought she was going to throw up where she stood.

 _She probably drowned. You might be able to find her corpse floating a way's downriver._

 _Shut up._

The walkers were getting close.

She had to know. Even if it was true, she had to find her. She wouldn't be able to live without knowing exactly what had happened to her.

 _You probably won't be able to live with knowing what happened, either._

 _Shut. Up._

"Fffffffffff-"

She screamed an unidentifiable combination of several curse words and turned around, swinging her axe into the temple of the nearest walker. She pulled it out and kicked the corpse to the ground. The rest were advancing slowly, limping toward her in a small crowd of empty eyes and faces. She put another one down and did the same to the next, and the next, and the next. Through the temple, up through the chin, down through the skull –

She froze, her blade buried to the hilt in the brain of the final walker. Her face reddened with rage as she recognized, behind the greying flesh and rotting wounds on his neck, the bandit from the night before. The one who'd chased Clementine with a machete until she fell into the river trying to get away from him. She pulled the axe out of his head and he tumbled to the ground, eyes open, his second life ending with a low, inhuman growl.

"This is your fault." she whispered, to herself as much as to him.

Shaking and breathing so hard she was almost hyperventilating, she lifted a knee high and brought her foot down onto his face one, two, three times. It crunched and broke until the pile of flesh and blood and shattered bone hardly resembled anything, let alone a face.

 _That won't make any difference._

 _You've already failed._

Amelia quieted her thoughts by jumping feet-first into the river.

* * *

When the current slowed, Amelia put her feet down on the river bed and stood, leaning on an overturned red canoe. She had no way to tell how far she'd floated downriver, but now she was knee-deep in reed plants and gently running water. It was a far cry from the rapids she'd been tossed around in when she started. That part of the river had been moving quickly enough to carry someone of Clementine's weight at least this far – if not further. She was facing a narrow, isolated beach situated on the underside of a small cliff. She trudged toward it and stuck to her plan: if she didn't find Clementine, or any sign that she'd been here, she'd continue down the river.

 _Then what?_

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth.

 _Stop._

 _What happens when you travel the entire river and don't find her?_

 _Stop!_

She opened her eyes suddenly, trying to distract herself. She looked to the cliff, which was far too steep to climb with the axe, even without a gaping head wound. She noticed the remains of a broken dock, which she could use to get to the top, should she decide to go that way. Clementine could've been up there, or further down river-

 _-or dead-_

-but Amelia could only search one at a time.

Amelia felt her hands start to shake.

 _Pick the wrong one and you'll never see her again._

Clenching her fists, trying to make it stop, she stepped further onto the beach and gripped handfuls of her own hair as if she was about to tear it out.

 _Shut up!_

 _She's dead. You'll never know what happened to her and there's nothing you can do._

" _I said, shut up!"_ Her voice echoed twice throughout the valley, reiterating what she'd screamed to nothing and no one. She was alone, and failing to convince herself that she wasn't losing it completely.

She looked down and noticed that she was standing in her name.

Her name was written, right there. Massive capital letters spelled out in mud that stood out against the light sand. She wondered how she'd missed it. She'd stepped in it and skewed the M and E beyond recognition, but it was there, clear as day and followed by an arrow that pointed toward the dock.

"Oh my God," Amelia breathed.

 _She's alive._

She took a running start toward the dock and jumped, catching the edge and pulling herself up just enough to inch herself onto the platform and roll onto her back. Her head pounded and the ringing sensation in her ear had yet to let up, but she couldn't have been less bothered by it. She got to her feet, brandished the axe, and pushed further into the forest.

* * *

It was getting late. The sun had set an hour ago; it was dark, and getting darker by the minute. She was painfully aware of each hour that passed, knowing she was going either toward Clementine or away from her. There was a world of difference between the two, and the choice had already been made.

A few hours ago, she'd stumbled onto an abandoned campsite. It had been ransacked to hell by bandits and scavengers. It looked like something out of a nightmare. She'd found photos near the fire pit, of the happy family that had been there once. They even had a dog. The family must have been hiding out there, waiting for help. She both envied and pitied the ignorance it took to think that they were safe there, that someone was coming to help them. To think that hell on Earth was just going to blow over. Now, the camp was trashed. Their tents were ripped to shreds. A walker – one so disfigured it was impossible to tell which family member it once was – had been tied to a tree, before someone had bashed his head in with a branch that now laid at his feet, covered in blood. It was probably the same people who'd cut the dog's throat and skewered its corpse on tent poles planted in the ground.

There wasn't much to find, and she didn't bother to look. She saw her name again, spelled out in the dirt, and went in the direction the arrow pointed her. She'd watched the ground intently for more messages, but hadn't seen any. It was about to get dark enough that she wouldn't be able to see them anyway.

She couldn't go back. She was sure she hadn't missed any, _she was sure._ But hours of wandering (more and more aimlessly, it felt), killing isolated walkers, and calling Clementine's name into an empty forest had thoroughly discouraged her.

Clem had survived the river. She had proof of that. The worst was over. She'd seen Clementine handle walkers before, sometimes better than herself, even. She told herself she'd been stupid to think Clementine couldn't protect herself. The girl was tougher and smarter than anyone gave her credit for – including Amelia.

She decided she had to move, find some sort of clearing. It would only get harder to spot walkers. She wasn't leaving. She'd sleep in this part of the forest. Spend the night up in a tree. She wasn't finished looking for Clementine, not even close.

A light in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned and saw that it was actually several lights. Were those…

Windows.

Amelia followed the light and came up to a steep drop in the forest floor, marked by a path that led down the hill and straight to a cabin. A cabin out in the middle of the woods, far beyond screaming distance of anyone or anything else. Someone was home.

She carefully made her way down the hill, sliding most of the way on her heels, seconds away from losing her balance. At the bottom, she stuck to the outskirts of the house and crouched near their shed, not wanting to be seen by its owners before she saw them. Pressing up against the shed doors, which had been bolted shut from the outside, she moved along the wall, trying to see into the windows. Most were covered by sheets that had been hung as makeshift curtains, and –

Amelia stopped short when she realized a walker was lingering on the adjacent side of the shed. She peered around the corner; it was on its stomach, scratching away at a hole in the shed wall that had been covered clumsily with a thin piece of plywood. That was fine by her – she didn't need to attract its attention.

She crept up to the front door, reminding herself that this was her last chance to turn back. There was no way of knowing how many there were, or how many guns they had. She wished she had more than one bullet. It would've evened the balance of power, should they draw on her. Then again, if they outnumbered her she'd be dead anyway.

 _This is stupid,_ she thought to herself. _God, this is stupid._

Amelia made it a point not to speak to strangers. More often than not, a stranger would shoot her in the head sooner than shake her hand. But she had to ask. If Clementine had come this way, she would have found her way to this house, and the people in it might have at least seen her in passing. She repeated this to herself quietly as she lifted a hand to knock.

 _Dumbest thing I've ever done._

Without thinking, she almost pounded on the door with a fist; she stopped mid-swing. Showing aggression wouldn't get her anywhere with these people. Some people hardly needed a reason to escalate things. If the bandits from the night before were any indication, some people didn't need a reason at all. She took a breath and opted for a light knock instead.

Nothing.

She couldn't stand waiting and knocked again, harder this time. Her heartbeat picked up when she heard heavy footsteps approaching the door. She left the axe strapped to her back – but made sure it was within reach.

If these people didn't kill her on sight, she decided bitterly, she'd return the favor by telling them there was a walker in their shed.

An older man opened the door. He must have been in his fifties or so. His hair was greying and shaved short, in stark contrast with his dark eyebrows and facial hair. The lines that creased his forehead, mouth, and the corners of his eyes suggested that he spent no small amount of his time worrying – not unlike herself.

For a split second, he looked over her head as if he were expecting someone taller. When he saw her, his eyes widened and he didn't bother to hide his shock and confusion.

"Jesus…" his brow creased as he looked her over. "What the hell happened-"

"I'm looking for a girl. Little. She's eleven." Amelia interrupted, suddenly talking a mile a minute upon realizing that she hadn't prepared a single thing to say. "Wearing purple. And a…uh…" she stuttered, waving finger around her head while she struggled for simple words. "A hat. A baseball cap."

She trailed off when the look on the man's face changed, noticeably. He'd looked at her with shock, maybe disgust – which didn't surprise her– but his expression suddenly changed to something she couldn't read. The only thing she could say with certainty was the only thing she'd wanted to know: he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"You've seen her?" she demanded.

"You must be Amelia."

She nodded, not yet sure whether to feel relieved.

The man seemed to notice the way her hands were shaking at her sides. "I…yes, we've seen her, but-"

 _Oh God._ Amelia saw his hesitation and a sense of dread began to claw at her, starting in the pit of her stomach and working its way up to her heart. No one ever hesitated to give good news. "Is she alive?"

She heard another voice come from the house – several new voices. Another man, significantly younger, came into view behind the man who'd answered the door.

"Pete? Everything alright?" he asked cautiously as he approached the door. He, too, stopped short when he saw the state Amelia was in. "Holy-"

"Stay where you are, Luke," Pete told him gruffly, watching Amelia with wary eyes.

"Hey! _Is she alive?_ " she snapped. The amount of time he was taking to give her an answer, an answer that would ruin or save her life, was making her furious.

"Hold on now, hold on," Luke came to stand by Pete, hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. "There's no need to get upset. Now, what's-"

Amelia ignored him, and addressed Pete, who continued to watch her as if she was going lunge at him at any moment. She couldn't blame him. She knew she was acting as unstable as she looked. But they'd seen Clementine. There was something this man wasn't telling her and she was desperate to know what it was.

"You know who I'm talking about!" Amelia felt her voice rising but couldn't have controlled herself if she tried. "Is she dead? _Tell me!_ "

" _No._ " Pete answered, raising his own voice to a volume that wasn't aggressive, but unshakably calm. Amelia had been wrong in thinking his face was creased with worry lines; this was the voice of a man who'd spent years parenting with an unwavering hand. It frightened her, not in a way that made her fear for her life, but in the way she used to fear authority as a child, after she'd done something wrong. "She is not. She's with us-"

Amelia immediately tried to push her way past him and into the house. Luke stepped into the doorway, ready to stop her should she get past the old man, but Pete stopped her by snapping again. His voice wasn't loud, but it still carried weight and authority that froze her where she stood.

" _Hey._ I want to help you, young lady, but you need to _calm down_ and _listen._ You understand?"

Amelia looked between the two of them. Pete's face was stern and unyielding, but it lacked the callousness and cruelty she'd come to expect from strangers. Luke's expression surprised her as well – it was one of genuine concern, something Amelia hadn't seen in a long time. These people weren't the bandits from the forest. They were reasonable, at the very least. No one had started shooting or even drawn a gun. She decided she could meet them halfway and nodded stiffly.

"Good. Now…" Pete didn't seem to know where to start, and looked over his shoulder at the boy he'd called Luke for an idea. He couldn't have been much older than Amelia. A few years, give or take.

Luke stepped in and offered, "Look, why don't you come inside and get cleaned up? There's something you need to know and-"

" _Just tell me-_ " Amelia caught herself starting to yell again and lowered her voice. "…tell me where she is. Please. Is she upstairs?"

Luke broke eye contact with her and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "She's…she's in the shed."

Amelia's heart began to freefall. Everything around her fell away – Luke's voice was muffled as he started to tell her something about letting them explain, Pete's gruff tone warning her to stay calm – none of it registered or mattered.

She bolted for the shed, jumping the porch steps, landing hard on her feet and sprinting for the doors. She threw her shoulder into them with momentum, causing them to cave in slightly before falling back into place. The bolt was new but not well attached; the wood looked old and easy to break.

She heard a scream from inside and knew it was unmistakably Clementine's.

Amelia stepped back far enough to get some leverage and kicked the bolt with as much force as she was capable of. The wood around the bolt splintered and it gave in a little, but not enough.

Pete had followed her down to the shed, and Luke was close behind him, yelling something she didn't bother to listen to. More people were coming out of the cabin. Amelia didn't stop to see how many.

She kicked the door again – it didn't give much further and she almost screamed in frustration.

Clementine screamed again. There were sounds of a struggle: a loud crash, heavy objects hitting the floor, the walker moaning, growling, screaming. Pete turned to another member of his group – another boy, carrying a rifle, who looked to be the same age as Luke – and shouted,

"Get the keys!"

Amelia kicked the door again, harder.

Luke was by her side before she realized it. "On three!"

She didn't wait for three. She kicked the door again and Luke followed suit. The wood cracked and pushed inward with a loud, hollow sound. They kicked again and again in an alternating, inconsistent rhythm. A final kick from the both of them sent the doors flying inward until they hit the walls on either side of the interior, bouncing back on their hinges.

Clementine was hunched in front of a walker that had been skewered on the broken edge of a white picket fence. She was struggling to remove the teeth of a hammer from a gaping hole in its forehead. It was stuck, and she stumbled backwards when she managed to pull it out.

Amelia, and the group behind her, stared. Whether they were horrified, surprised, or impressed, she didn't know. Amelia felt all three.

Luke was the only one who spoke. "Holy shit."

After a brief silence, Clementine, breathing heavily, angrily threw the hammer aside and turned around. "I am still. _Not._ _Bitten_. I never was." Her words seemed directed at one person in particular – Clem had singled out Luke, who stared back, wide-eyed and speechless. "And you left me out here _to die._ "

 _Bitten? Who thought she was bitten?_ Amelia spoke up to get her attention. "Clementine."

Clementine's attention jumped quickly to Amelia, blinking in shock as she recognized the familiar face in a group of strangers.

"Amelia?" She ran to her sister and Amelia met her halfway, shoving past Luke and crouching on the floor of the shed to pull her in for a hug. Clementine took a step back, holding Amelia's shoulders at arm's length. Her face quickly fell from a relieved smile to an expression of confusion and mild horror. "Are you…? What happened to your head?"

"I'm fine."

As always, Clem didn't seem convinced.

Amelia stood, gently guided Clementine behind her, and turned to face the group, none of whom had moved.

She had an idea of what had happened, and she wanted to be wrong. Her hands started to shake, this time not with nerves but with anger. Simmering rage that was building at an alarming rate; soon she'd have more than she knew what to do with. She didn't know what she planned to do when one of them confirmed what she was afraid of: that they'd found her sister, lost and alone, and locked her in a shed.

She looked out at all of them, but, like Clementine, directed her question to Luke. He seemed to be the one in charge of the group, despite being one of the youngest.

"What did you do?"

Luke stammered, caught by surprise. "I...I didn't mean...this is..."

"How the hell did it get in here?" the boy with the rifle cut in before Luke could give a real answer.

Pete didn't answer the question. Like Amelia, it seemed to be the last thing on his mind. "Little girl's tough as nails."

Only a tall, dark-haired Hispanic man addressed Clementine directly and asked her if she was alright.

"This shed should've been safe," Luke insisted. Amelia got the sense that his awe wasn't at the fact that the shed had been breached, but at the way Clementine had handled it.

But no one could say she'd come out of it unscathed. Amelia noticed her hands trembling, before realizing her entire body was shaking. She reminded herself that Clementine's ability to kill walkers didn't mean it was easy for her – physically or emotionally. It was too easy to judge things by the new standard the apocalypse had created; easy to forget that no child should ever have to do the things Clementine had done to stay alive.

Luke blinked, and asked in disbelief, "You patched yourself up?"

Clementine moved a hand to cover her left forearm, then pulled her sleeve down to her wrist. Amelia looked down, saw a long, deep gash that ran from her wrist to her elbow, very recently and very badly stitched up, and wondered how she hadn't noticed it.

It looked like a bite.

But it couldn't have been a bite.

"Clem…?" Amelia trailed off, unsure how to ask a question that she was terrified to have answered.

The boy with the rifle chimed in, his tone sharp and accusatory. "Where'd you get that stuff?"

It wasn't a bite. It wasn't. It couldn't have been –

"Did she _steal_ from us?" This from a woman, probably in her early thirties and…pregnant.

Everything about this situation, and these people, had set Amelia on edge. She's been piecing together all the possible ways this could end. The idea that she and Clementine weren't going to escape them alive had been sitting patiently among her thoughts, waiting for the worst possible moment to rear its head. And here it was.

Pete spoke from the back of the group, making everyone turn to listen. "This doesn't change a thing. She hasn't done anything to us."

The woman retorted quickly, as open with her disdain for Pete as she was with her apparent disdain for Clementine: "Says the man _not_ carrying a baby."

She and Pete had apparently had this argument before. "Enough already!"

"I did." Clementine cut in. "I took stuff, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"What?" Amelia looked back to Clementine. She knew her sister to be passive, but would never have expected her to apologize to people who were clearly indifferent to her. Maybe her own fear had occurred to Clementine as well; that these people were dangerous, and it was safer not to make them angry.

The pregnant woman crossed her arms and glared before turning her attention back to Pete. "And you think you can trust her?"

"God damn it, don't even start." Pete said, in a tone that said he was past running out of patience. "Any of you would've done the same if you were half as tough as this little girl." If anyone was about to protest, Pete put an end to it before they started. "So just save it."

The tallest of the group, the Hispanic man in the flannel shirt, remained stoic and pensive as he processed all of this. Finally, he said, "Bring them in and I'll take a look at their injuries."

He turned and walked calmly back to the cabin. Unlike Pete, he didn't seem interested in arguing his point. He seemed to think that the act of making the decision was enough.

A large colored man with thick glasses muttered to himself, "Damn lurkers sneaking around out here…we'd better get inside." He followed closely on the pregnant woman's heels as they both headed back toward the front porch.

Luke stayed. So did Pete, and the boy with the rifle.

Amelia reached down, finding Clementine's hand while keeping her eyes on all three of them. She left her climbing axe on her back, her stolen pistol tucked away at her waist. She didn't want any misunderstandings or sudden moves.

"We're leaving." She said to Clementine.

Clementine and Luke spoke at the same time.

"What?"

"Hold on, now-"

"It's time to go, Clementine." Amelia said, trying to imitate the stern certainty she'd heard from Pete and the man in who'd told them to come inside. She led Clementine out of the shed, crossing the threshold slowly and keeping her back to the wall.

"Amelia, wait," Clementine insisted. "You need help."

Luke came forward, arms down to show he didn't pose any threat. "Look, I realize we've…gotten off on the wrong foot here, but-"

" _Don't._ " Amelia said harshly. " _Not after what you did_." Luke looked stunned, at a loss for words for the second time that night. Amelia shook her head, feeling tears well up and willing her voice not to crack as she said, "What's wrong with you people? How could you do this?"

It had been a bad day. Not the worst day she's ever had, she was quick to remind herself. But the exhaustion, anger, and uncertainty was weighing on her, and quickly becoming more than she was equipped to handle. She turned away and angrily swiped at her face with her sleeve. Removing all evidence of emotional weakness. Her sister wasn't dead. They'd found each other. Any confrontation with these people would probably turn violent, and wouldn't be worth the collateral damage it would cause. Their best option was to leave. Find a camp, wait for the sun to come up, and then go from there like they always had.

She tightened her grip on Clementine's hand and tried to direct her back into the woods. "Come on, Clementine."

"Amelia." Pete said from behind her. She'd heard her name spoken in front of him several times; it wasn't a surprise that he knew what it was. Still, it was a surprise to hear him speak it. There was something personal and oddly calming about it. "Wait just a minute."

"Who cares?" said the boy with the rifle. Amelia noticed very blue eyes and a perpetual scowl. "Let them go if they want to leave."

"Not now, Nick." Pete shot him a glance before addressing her again. "I can see you're upset. I'd be too, if I were in your shoes. Now, you need more than a little help, and we'd like to explain what happened. Just come on inside so we can sort this all out."

Amelia didn't move. Unable to think of any explanation that would excuse what they'd done, she shook her head and tried to continue toward the forest, until Clementine abruptly let go of her hand. Amelia turned sharply, surprised at her sister's decision.

"You don't look good, Amelia." Clementine said, obviously worried. "I think we need to stay."

"No one here wants to hurt anyone," Luke assured her. "Let's just talk this out. Inside, away from the lurkers. Alright?"

Clementine looked back at him and nodded. "You're hurt, and they're offering help," She said to Amelia. "We should take it."

Amelia didn't like the sight of her sister and a complete stranger in agreement against her. She and Clem had always been on the same page. It was how they stayed alive. When the situation called for it they communicated quickly and quietly, usually without words. They always understood each other and they rarely disagreed. Seeing her choose to side with someone else was new, and Amelia didn't like new things. Or new people.

"We don't need anything from you."

"Is that so?" Luke crossed his arms, his voice suddenly sharp. "Have you seen yourself?" Even acting harsh and defensive, he didn't seem any less kind. He had a handsome, gentle face that made him seem incapable of cruelty. He probably couldn't have looked mean if he tried. His words didn't make her feel attacked so much as chastised. Lectured by a friend who had her best interests in mind, but had grown tired of the way she refused to listen. "That head wound looks like you've been-"

"Luke, that's enough." Pete said.

Luke clearly wanted to finish. But he stopped there and waited for Pete to speak again.

"What do you expect to do out there, with an injury like that?" Pete asked.

"We'll figure it out." Amelia said.

"That ain't a plan, darlin'. Moving and scavenging will only get you so far."

"It works for us."

"Until the day it doesn't." Pete gestured to his head, mirroring the side of Amelia's head that had been split open. "What do you think will happen when you catch an infection and a fever?"

"I'll take care of it before that happens-"

"Say you get caught by lurkers. What happens to her?" He gestured toward Clementine.

"We deal with problems as they come. What else is there?"

"There's a group, Amelia. You can't watch your own back and hers twenty-four-seven."

Amelia looked from Pete to Luke, who was watching her cautiously, to Nick, who didn't look pleased to be there. Hands on his rifle, he frequently checked over his shoulders, scanning the trees for more walkers.

Amelia didn't want to give in yet. But she knew Pete could tell that she didn't believe herself when she said, "We've done alright so far."

"Clearly." Pete said. "I don't want to see you or Clementine end up dead. But if you keep on like this, that's exactly what'll happen." Amelia stared at Pete cautiously, knowing that he was right. "If it's really been just the two of you, frankly I don't know how something hasn't happened to you already."

It occurred to Amelia that Pete wasn't the first person to tell her this, and she realized who it was he reminded her of. It explained why she wasn't afraid of him. She'd have gone so far as to say that she liked him.

That didn't mean she trusted him, or any of them.

Clementine reached out, offering a hand and a final attempt to change her mind:

"If you leave, I'll go with you. But please come inside."

* * *

 **AN: Lyrics by Regina Spektor**


	4. Liar

Clementine was seated in a barstool at the kitchen counter, while the group's doctor – who'd introduced himself as Carlos – examined her arm.

At Pete's insistence, Amelia had left her axe at the front door. He'd held out a hand, wordlessly asking her to hand over her gun. She complied. He went to unload it, found that it only held a single bullet, and gave her a disapproving look. She answered with a shrug.

Once she'd been disarmed, she heard the story, beginning to end, from Luke. He and Pete had found Clementine in the woods. She'd been bitten by something, and she swore to them that it was a dog. The group couldn't agree on how to handle it. Carlos made the decision to keep her in the shed, to wait it out and give her a chance without endangering his people. Luke had stopped occasionally, leaving room for questions, or reactions, but Amelia didn't have any. She'd only nodded and gestured for him to go on, watching Clementine and Carlos.

She'd been holding onto her building outrage; there would be a time and a place to release it, and now was not it. Not when these people were still armed and paranoid. Not when she still needed their help.

Now, Amelia leaned up against the kitchen wall. Luke had finished his explanation and paced the kitchen, while Nick stood in the doorway, staring into space and biting his thumbnail. All three quietly awaited a verdict from Carlos, though a silent nod from Clementine had told Amelia what she'd needed to know. All they needed now was proof, a decision from someone the people in this house would trust.

Amelia noticed Clementine eyeing the rifle Nick had laid across the kitchen table, and sent her a look, one that said no one here would use it on her if she had anything to do with it.

Luke stopped pacing. "How's she look?"

"Her suturing skills need some work. But otherwise, I'd say she should be fine." Carlos answered. Amelia thought she saw a relieved smile cross his face. If she did, it was brief and almost imperceptible. She could've been wrong. Carlos didn't strike her as a man who smiled often.

"So, it wasn't a lurker bite?" Luke asked carefully.

"If it was, the fever would've already set in and her temperature would be through the roof."

Nick wordlessly left the room. He threw the door open hard enough to hit the wall in the hallway outside. It probably left a dent in the drywall.

Luke threw an irritated look in his direction and quickly followed him out. Now it was Nick's turn to receive a lecture, and Amelia was glad not to be a part of it. She could've cared less about the way either of them felt.

Carlos spoke suddenly, getting her attention in the now silent room. "I wish you wouldn't have done what you did." He'd crossed to the kitchen sink and begun washing his hands. But even turned away from them, his voice was low and grave, and his intent was clear. Amelia got the sense that this man was not to be trifled with.

"What do you mean?" Clementine asked.

Carlos' answer was quick. "You manipulated my daughter."

He had a daughter? Amelia had seen that this group was about to have a child to care for, but she didn't know of any children who were already in the picture. She asked herself if this changed how she felt about them, and came up without an answer.

She didn't know what Carlos meant by "manipulated." She gave her sister a nod to remind her that she wasn't to blame for anything that had happened that night. Clem acknowledged it, and turned back to Carlos.

"I asked for her help." Clem answered, genuinely confused, and like always, trying to end the conflict before it started.

"She's not someone you can just ask for help." Carlos stood upright, flinging the excess water from his hands into the sink. He paused, seeming to calm himself down. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but there are a few things you need to know about my daughter. Both of you."

"Okay…" Clementine said.

Carlos looked from her to Amelia, who was still leaning against the kitchen wall, arms crossed and waiting. She stared back until she realized he was waiting for an answer from her, and for the lack of anything better to say, repeated her sister.

"Okay."

"She isn't like you." Carlos said. "You may not get that initially, but once you're around her for a while, you'll understand. If she knew how bad the world is…what it's really like out there…she would…cease to function."

Carlos turned toward the window, and Amelia saw something familiar in his face. "She's my little girl. She's all I have left and I would ask that you stay away from her."

Amelia knew this feeling. She knew what it was like to be solely responsible for the only loved one she had left. She knew how terrifying it was trying to protect her from a world that was making every attempt to kill her, how paranoid it could make someone whose worst fear is days, minutes, seconds away from happening at all times.

She wouldn't have wished it on anyone. No parent should have to live each day afraid of losing their child. But that was the world now. It was the world that woman and her baby were headed for.

Before Amelia could signal Clementine to agree to what he'd asked, she said,

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"We won't speak to her." Amelia wasn't about to argue. He wasn't asking much.

"It's okay." Carlos said, giving away nothing as to what he felt. He told Clementine, "You're forgiven." He addressed the both of them with a warning devoid of threat. "Just don't make any more mistakes."

The room was silent again. Carlos approached the surgical tools he'd laid out on the counter and picked up a small roll of suturing thread. He gestured to Amelia without looking. "Now you."

Clementine jumped down from the barstool and looked at Amelia expectantly, stepping aside so she could take her place. Amelia cautiously obliged while Carlos pulled on a pair of latex gloves and opened a half-empty bottle of antiseptic.

"Let me see."

Once in the chair, she pushed her hair away from her face, giving Carlos a clear look at her forehead.

He didn't need to look at it long. "You'll need stitches. Though I'm sure you knew that." Amelia watched him select a long, hook-shaped needle from the layout of tools. The pit of her stomach suddenly felt cold, and she found herself fidgeting in the seat.

"How many?"

Carlos briefly glanced back up at her face, then returned to his work. "Five." He opened a sealed packet of alcohol wipes and used one to sanitize the needle. "I might be able to do it in four. We'll see when it's clean." He looked again. His thick eyebrows furrowed and he looked at her head as if something was out of place. "What did this?"

 _People...?_ She realized she misunderstood the question. "A rock."

Carlos shook his head and muttered something in Spanish. Despite two semesters of it in college, Amelia didn't understand him.

"It won't be that bad, Amelia," Clementine said, without any trace of certainty. This, coming from someone who'd just given herself stitches. Amelia saw right through her. The grimace on her face when she looked at Amelia's head wound gave it away. Clem's own surgery must have been excruciating, and she obviously knew that Amelia's would be no easier.

Luke backed into the room, pushing the door open with his shoulder and holding a bowl of something that was giving off steam.

"Hey, uh…" He looked at Clementine and seemed unsure of how to address her. "Brought you some food, if you're hungry." He looked at Amelia and his expression changed when he saw Carlos threading the hooked needle. "There's uh…some for you, when you… finish up in here. It's in the dining room."

Clementine took a seat at the kitchen table, facing Amelia. "Thanks, but I'll stay in here for now."

Amelia shook her head. "Go. You haven't eaten for a day."

Clementine looked at the bowl Luke was holding, and consciously or not, put a hand to her stomach. Still, she seemed unsure. "I think I should wait."

"But they're offering help and we should take it," Amelia couldn't keep the smirk off of her face. Clem dropped her eyelids in a way that said she was not amused. Amelia almost brought herself to laugh. Almost. "It's okay. Go."

Clementine looked one more time between Luke and Amelia, before getting up and heading toward the door. "I'll be right outside…" she said. Luke handed her the bowl and opened the door to the dining room for her. Amelia expected him to follow her out, but he let the door close behind her and came into the kitchen to join Carlos.

"How's uh…how's she look?"

"Not good. But it's fixable." Carlos answered. He soaked a clean gauze pad in antiseptic and pressed it to her forehead.

Amelia flinched at the sudden sting and fought the urge to swat his hand away. She quietly seethed while Carlos wiped away the dirt and blood, dabbing the disinfectant over torn, broken flesh. Luke crossed his arms, visibly uncomfortable; this was hard for him to watch, and it showed on his face.

When he finally finished, Amelia cursed under her breath. "Shit."

"That was the easy part." Carlos set the disinfectant aside. He regarded her with a stoic professionalism he must have developed while working in a hospital, treating horrifying injuries and giving devastating news to his patients. He was direct, but not apathetic. "You're an adult. I don't need to lie to you. This will be very painful. For a cut this deep, I would normally administer an anesthetic. But you'll just have to endure it until it's finished."

Amelia started to feel claustrophobic, between the chair and the two men in front of her. She was afraid of pain. She always had been. She felt trapped. A needle piercing the split skin of her head was going to be intimately painful, and it had to be done. There were no other options.

She nodded.

"Alright." Carlos picked up the needle, taking her nod as confirmation that she was ready. She wasn't, but there was no time to wait until she was. "I'll try to make it as quick as possible, but it's very important that you hold still." Carlos tilted her head up by the chin and turned it to her left, in Luke's direction. They made eye contact for a charged second, until Amelia broke it by moving her gaze to the floor. "Luke, you can go. You're not needed here."

Luke hesitated and Carlos ignored him, holding Amelia's head steady with one hand and pushing the needle into her skin with the other, showing no sign of hesitation or indecision.

She responded with a quick intake of breath, shocked at how invasive and sharp the pain actually was. She slammed a hand down onto the counter and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for it to pass, but it only seemed to get worse with time. The pain started on the surface and felt like it was drilling deeper, coming closer and closer to her skull.

It was horrible.

Carlos pulled the needle through the other side of the gash, and she winced at the feeling of the suturing thread tightening and pulling the wound shut.

That was one stitch out of five.

"Wait," Amelia held up a hand, stopping Carlos before he went in for the second.

"Prolonging this will only make it worse."

She knew that. Still, she wanted a few seconds to breathe and steel herself for the next one.

Luke stepped closer, and it took Amelia a moment to realize he was offering her a hand. She stared at him, her face asking the obvious question.

"I read that…holding someone's hand makes these things easier." Amelia didn't have the energy to respond with an eye roll. She settled for the expression that took the least amount of effort: a glare. Was this a joke? Did he find this funny? "Really. It calms you down, even if it's a total stranger. I guess it helps, not feeling…you know, like you're doing this alone, or…I don't know."

Amelia stared at the outstretched hand as if he'd slapped her. She looked three times between his hand and his face before squaring her shoulders to face Carlos.

"Do it." She pushed her hair from her face and reminded herself to add, "Please." Politeness, in this world, was useless under most circumstances; this was an exception.

Carlos used one hand to steady her head and the other to go in for the next stitch. She closed her eyes the moment it pierced her skin and felt a thin line of blood run down her forehead and into her eyelashes. She gripped the edge of the counter, feeling Carlos mercilessly tear away damaged skin while her wound screamed.

He finished the stitch. She had time to open her eyes and see that Luke had left the room before Carlos began the third without warning. It didn't get easier with time. Time moved excruciatingly slowly. She asked herself repeatedly if he was near finished; every time she knew the answer was no. Knowing that he was fixing, not hurting, didn't help much.

Screaming and cursing through gritted teeth, however, did.

By the time it was over, the cursing had turned to sobbing. She wiped the tears from her face – taking a smear of dirt and blood with it – and immediately tried to forget it happened. Much like everything she tried to forget, she knew she would remember it well.

Without a word, Carlos removed his gloves, dropped them into the kitchen trash, and washed his hands again. He took a clean white rag from the counter, soaked it in water from the tap, and wrung it out over the sink.

He handed it to her, and Amelia recognized the familiar silence that hangs in the air when someone has something to say. She waited, wiping the rag over her face and coloring it with streaks of black, red, and brown. She noted that, as long as she felt it had taken, he'd finished pretty quickly - or at least that he could've taken longer. She tried to look past the throbbing in her head and remember that, in his cold persistence and lack of hesitation, he'd done her a favor.

Carlos regarded her with the stoic severity she'd come to expect from him.

"I don't know if you and the girl can be trusted. And so I don't know how long you'll be staying. But you would do well to remember that I will not tolerate any threats to my family in this house."

Amelia nodded, trying to ignore that it made the pounding in her head worse. "I understand. Honestly, I thought the same thing of you. Clementine and I aren't here to hurt anyone."

Carlos remained unconvinced. If anything, his frown deepened. "I will ask you this only once: Is there anything about you or the girl that I should know?"

She didn't know how to answer that. If he wanted to know every horrible thing she'd ever done, they'd have been there all night. Did he want to know how many people she'd killed? Or how many deaths she could've prevented, and didn't? She remembered them all. She couldn't forget.

Did he want to know about the time she was bitten and didn't turn?

She suddenly felt scrutinized and guilty, like he already knew. He knew what she was thinking and was giving her a chance to come clean; a chance that he'd make her regret passing up.

"Why do you hesitate?"

"We've all done something. All of us."

"I'm aware of that." He looked away – shame briefly flashed across his face and Amelia recognized it as something she herself did often – and quickly returned his attention to her. "I do not give second chances, Amelia. If you have something to tell me, you do it now."

Nothing good would come of them knowing what happened. They wouldn't have believed her – which would have been the best way for things to turn out. The worst involved _her_ being locked in the shed. Maybe they'd kick her out, and leave her and Clem without shelter for the night. Maybe they'd shoot her on the spot, put her down because countless people had been bitten and turned and not a single one had ever survived. She should have been one of them.

They wouldn't understand, and people – including her, especially her – feared what they didn't understand. So Amelia looked him in the eyes and answered honestly.

"We're not dangerous people."

"You are very dangerous. Whether you are dangerous to us has yet to be seen." Carlos crossed the room, apparently on his way out. "You may use the shower upstairs. Five minutes, no more. Have Luke show you where it is."

Amelia's reply made him pause with one hand on the door to the dining room.

"Thank you for the stitches."

He didn't answer, and left the room. She may have seen him nod, but she couldn't have been sure.

* * *

"So…what happened to your parents?"

Amelia stopped when she heard Luke's voice on the other side of the door. For a second, she considered going in anyway. But she knew from the moment he asked the question that she wouldn't.

She and Clementine had never talked about their parents. Not ever. Amelia had no idea how to talk to a girl who'd seen her parents dead at nine years old. She didn't know how much Clementine remembered, let alone how she felt. Amelia had never gotten her to talk about it, and it wasn't for lack of trying. When it came to avoiding painful subjects, Clem was almost as adept as her sister. Amelia had allowed this, telling herself she couldn't make Clementine talk about their parents. But she knew she'd let it go because she didn't want to talk about them either.

Luke continued, his voice gentle and hesitant, trying not to overstep any boundaries. "If you don't mind me asking. I mean, I assume what happened to them is what happened to just about everyone's parents. You're just so young…and your sister, she's… too young to be doing all this. Making it, with the way things are, and taking care of you…"

There was a short pause.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that." Luke amended. "I just didn't think you two could've made it on your own for so long, but maybe you did."

Another pause.

"Does it matter?"

Clementine responded in a tone Amelia had heard before. It was a subtle warning. As close to a threat as Clementine ever got.

"I was just curious on how you made it this far." Luke explained, sounding prepared to let the matter drop.

There was a long silence, and Amelia was about to go in and join them.

Then, so quietly that she nearly missed it: "They died."

Amelia stared at the floor, suddenly feeling something weigh heavily on her shoulders. She'd thought about it repeatedly, in the first few months after it had happened. But she'd never put it into words.

Then the room was quiet again, and Amelia was afraid that Clem didn't have any more to say.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I…I shouldn't have asked."

But Clementine answered. She took a deep breath, and started slowly, sounding like she was telling Luke what she knew as she thought back and remembered it. "My parents left me with a babysitter, and never came back…then Amelia came and found me…we went to Savannah to find them. But they were already dead."

Luke answered quietly. Like Amelia, he seemed to be at a loss for words. "Wow… I'm sorry to hear that."

"We met up with other survivors and we all tried to make it. But…it didn't work."

Amelia had tried to get her sister to talk to her. About their parents, about Macon, about the people they'd met, about anything. Those conversations ended soon after they started. And here she was, telling Luke more about their past than Amelia had ever heard her say. Hearing it was strange, and she wondered what about him was so trustworthy, what about him made Clem open up to him when she'd never done the same for her…but more than anything, she was glad to hear her finally talking. If she felt any kind of jealousy toward him, it was beside the point. It wasn't important.

"Yeah…" Luke sounded as disappointed as she did. "I hear a lot of stories like that. And ever since then, it's been just you two?"

Clem answered faster this time. Her voice had been barely above a whisper when she started. Now she spoke up.

"Amelia taught me how to stay safe. She taught me how to shoot a gun. We met a lot of people on the way to Savannah. Most of them tried to hurt us."

Luke didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say to that. The ugly truth of the world was something children as young as Clementine shouldn't have had to be acquainted with.

Clementine went on. "They would've hurt me, but Amelia never let them. I made it this far because she saved me, lots of times."

"Well," Luke said softly. "It sounds like you're lucky to have her."

"I am."

There was another silence. When Clementine spoke again, Amelia heard something different in her voice. It was subtle, but clear enough – at least to her. She suddenly sounded cautious, like she was testing the waters by carefully moving to a new subject. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

"Sometimes…she'd save me by making sure people hurt her instead. We always got out…but she always made sure that if one of us wasn't going to make it, it was going to be her."

Amelia didn't like hearing this. She'd underestimated how much Clementine really understood about what she'd been through years ago. Amelia didn't want Clementine to understand, so she told herself that she didn't. But she knew how smart her sister was. Amelia should have expected that she knew and remembered more than she told.

Luke didn't answer right away.

"Then she must really love you. Like I said, you're lucky to have someone like that."

"She does. It's scary to think about sometimes."

"What, uh…" Luke hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"It scares me because I think, if she had to, she would die to protect me."

Amelia became worried, finally understanding where Clem was going with this. She should have seen it from the moment she took the conversation in this direction. Clementine couldn't be doing what Amelia thought she was doing. She wouldn't share with Luke what Amelia thought she was about to, no matter how much she liked him.

Still, she put a hand on the door, ready to push it open the second Clementine started to say too much.

Luke said, gently, "It's normal to feel that way about people you love. There's nothing wrong with being afraid of losing people."

"But…there were…a lot of times when she came close…"

"Are you...trying to tell me something, Clementine?"

 _Don't do it. Don't do it._

"There was this one time…when I really, really thought she-"

Amelia was a little too rough in pushing the door open. She interrupted the quiet, careful mood of their conversation with the abrasive _slam_ of her hand on wood _._

Realizing this only after she did it, Amelia looked between their surprised faces and said struggled to find words.

"Um…I…"

Another door opened on the other side of the room. Pete came in, disregarding his own intrusion on a talk Amelia had already disrupted.

"I hate to interrupt, but I'm out there standing watch and I can't help but notice this place is lit up like a goddamn beacon in the middle of the woods."

Luke nodded his understanding to Pete, then looked back at Clementine with a kind and genuine smile – one she returned.

"Yeah. It's time to turn in anyway."

"Get your winks while you can, 'cause we're going fishing at first light. Couple of fresh brookies for dinner? Wouldn't that be nice?" Pete turned his attention to Amelia, who still stood with her back against the kitchen door. He gestured to his own forehead, asking, "How's the head?"

She nodded, but couldn't bring herself to return his smile. "It's, uh, better."

"Good to hear." Pete waved a hand for Luke to follow him, then left the room.

Luke stood up to follow him out, stopping to look cautiously at Amelia.

"Did you, uh…need something?"

"Carlos said you could tell me where the shower is?"

Luke smiled again, suddenly more approachable than she'd been expecting. Under better circumstances she would have admitted that he had a very nice smile.

"Yeah, of course. It's right upstairs – I'll show you."

Amelia followed him out of the room. She tried to shoot Clementine a look on her way to the door, which Clem avoided by staring into her food.


	5. Angry

The two walked quietly into to the living room. Like the rest of the house, it was dark, and lit only by candles on the coffee table in the center of the room. Amelia noticed a chess board; its pieces were scattered about the table, with only a few left on the board. Black had won with a checkmate – a rook, a bishop, and a pawn, of all things, were prepared to take the white king from all directions.

"That was Carlos." Luke said, having noticed her looking at it. "He's pretty good. Beats me every time, anyway."

Amelia didn't answer as they passed the table, and Luke stopped to open a cabinet full of folded tablecloths and unidentifiable boxes.

Luke broke the silence again. He looked over the shelves and said casually, "Not talking, huh?" When she didn't answer, he went on. "Well, I'll tell you what I told your sister: I'm an expert at talking to girls who don't want to talk to me."

Amelia used to appreciate jokes like that, especially from boys like Luke. But here and now, after what he'd done, she didn't have the patience for his good-natured humor. Not tonight. Not ever.

"Anyway, shower's right upstairs." He turned around and handed her an eggshell blue towel. It was clean, folded neatly, and, Amelia found when she reached out to take it, soft to the touch.

She blinked, confused and unsure of how she felt. She ran her hand over it and suddenly remembered the way she used to press her face into the clean towels her mother had just washed, stealing them from the dryer and running away with them while they were still warm. Back then, she'd thought she was getting away with it. But in hindsight, she realized her mother had always known. It was clear in the way she'd smiled at her when she asked where the towels had gone.

"So it's uh…been a while, huh?" Luke guessed. "I know how you feel." Amelia doubted that. "I had the same reaction to the pillows here, when we found this place. There was a while when I didn't think I'd see one again."

Amelia looked from the towel to him. He was trying to find some common ground between them, and she didn't want to have anything in common with the people in this house. She shook her head and and tried to pass him to get the the stairs. She still didn't know which door it was, but it wouldn't take long to find the bathroom on her own.

"Wait," Luke stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Amelia's heart jumped; habit told her that her immediate response should be preemptive and violent. She'd learned that when a stranger put hands on her, they had plans to hurt her. When that happened, the only way to stay safe was to punch first and punch hard. She calmed down only once she remembered where she was and who she was with.

She settled for a glare, trying to convey as much of a threat as she could without words. Luke let her go almost immediately, taking on a reasonable, calming voice she'd heard from him before. "I'm sorry. Really, I am." His face was sympathetic and gentle, and Amelia was getting tired of seeing it. She didn't like the way it made her feel to have someone look at her like that.

He crossed his arms, his way of promising to keep his hands to himself from now on.

"Are you alright?"

Amelia only stared, hoping he'd pick up on her disdain for him, and for his group. Still, something reminded her that he was the only person, besides Clementine, to ask her that in a very long time. Luke went on, carefully.

"Clementine told me how you two were separated. She said you ran into bandits in the woods…they, uh…did that-" He gestured to her head. "-to you?" The way he held eye contact was more intimate than she was comfortable with, and she looked away. Where was he going with this? "Look…just tell me if you're alright."

Amelia didn't feel the need to tell him anything. He could ask all the questions he wanted, but that didn't mean he deserved answers. Not after what his group had done to Clementine. She turned away from him and started up the stairs.

"Okay, wait," Luke called after her. "Enough with the small talk, I get it." Amelia stopped, but didn't turn back. "Listen, I understand why you're upset with us. Okay? I know how you feel."

There it was again. That phrase, thrown around so carelessly when it meant so much. Amelia came back down the stairs, and stopped in front of Luke's crossed arms.

Her words were quiet. Not angry and cathartic, as she would have expected, but calm and sad and disappointed.

"My sister asked for your help and you locked her in a shed. She almost died because of it. So unless you've had someone kill your sibling out of paranoia and carelessness, no. You have no idea how I feel."

Shame crossed Luke's face, and was quickly replaced with something else. He looked hurt.

"I tried to help her. I didn't want all that to happen."

"Then why did you let it?"

"I was outvoted by-"

"Well, then."

Luke looked away from her, and his brow creased in a way she hadn't seen before. It took her a moment to recognize anger on his face; it seemed so out of place there.

"You think that would'a happened if it was just up to me?" he said defensively. "The group made the decision and I couldn't go against them. I didn't have a choice."

"That's bullshit." Amelia spat the words out before she thought to censor herself. But if she was to blame for every one of her own mistakes, and the unintended consequences they had, then she was damn well going to hold Luke accountable for his. "No one held a gun to your head. There's always a choice."

Luke looked like he was about to argue with that, until he stopped and seemed to have nothing more to say.

Finally: "I don't know how the group is going to feel about you two staying, or even if you'll want to." He turned away slightly and said, "Frankly, I'm hoping you do." She believed him.

"We don't plan on it."

This seemed to surprise him. "Oh. Clementine said otherwise."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "She did?"

Luke nodded. "But I guess that's for you two to work out. Look, all I'm saying is, I realize we didn't have a great start. And I don't know exactly how to fix things from here, but…I'm trying."

Amelia considered her answer carefully, knowing it might set a precedent that she wouldn't be able to take back.

"Don't."

She climbed the stairs alone.

* * *

The bathroom was the second door she tried. The first was a bedroom. Thankfully no one had been inside.

She dropped her clothes in a muddy pile on the floor. Before turning the water on, she stopped to look at her face in the mirror. It was the first mirror she'd seen in a while. It hadn't been as long as the last time she'd seen a clean towel, but still. The small reminders of what her life used to be were now broken and scattered, and very hard to come by.

The gash in her forehead was swollen, red, and pinched around the center, where it had been stitched. It was ugly no matter how she looked at it. It was going to leave a scar, and she shrugged at the thought. Years ago, a scar like this was something she'd have agonized over. She'd been vain, back when vanity was a luxury she could afford. Now it only meant she would get to live.

Against her better judgment, she turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder.

An imprint of human teeth, gnarled and black, marred her ribcage on the left side, just above her waist. She'd hoped that if she ignored it for years, she'd look again to find it faded, or gone. But it was very much there, a small part of her body that died and would always stay dead.

 _She was distracted by Clem's hat, thinking that she must've been taken because she would never leave it behind by choice. She didn't think. She bent down to pick it up and the walker surprised her, coming out from behind a piece of plywood that looked too small to conceal a human body and taking her down before she knew what was happening. She was on her stomach, the weight of an adult's corpse crushing her into the pavement, the smell of death swarming into her lungs and the next thing she felt was teeth in her back, tearing through her shirt and taking something out of her, literally and metaphorically._

 _She screamed and Kenny came running. Staring into the ground, she heard him grunt, heard the familiar sound of a skull getting crushed by a blunt object, and felt the weight fall off of her._

 _And just like that, she was on borrowed time. Terminal, with less than a day left._

 _She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, Clementine's hat in her hand and a steady drip of blood trailing down onto the pavement. She tried to speak, to tell Kenny what was going on, it was important and he had to know but she started sobbing. Her voice hitched and she couldn't get the words out._

" _Kenny, it's-"_

" _Oh, God…" he said, a shovel in his hands. "Amelia, what…oh, no…"_

" _It's fine," Amelia said, starting to cry harder, her voice rising in desperation. Maybe if she got louder Kenny would believe her, and she could believe herself. "It's okay, I can fix it,"_

" _Amelia, darlin'," he said, shaking his head, equally at a loss for words and ideas. Behind him, she could see Christa and Omid running to catch up with him. She saw the looks of abject horror on their faces, saw the moment they realized they wouldn't be able to help her._

 _She sat back on her heels and pressed a hand to her ribs. Blood poured out between her fingers and her entire hand turned scarlet red. "She's gone. Clementine's gone." She choked out. From the ground, she looked to Kenny, and their tendency to disagree with each other couldn't have seemed farther away. "Someone took her and I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do, Kenny, please,"_

Amelia closed her eyes, and silently scolded herself. She knew better than to think about the past like this. She didn't need to remind herself there was no need to go back to it; it would follow her all on its own.

She showered in freezing water – she hadn't expected anything else – and watched the blood and dirt rinse slowly down her legs and crawl into the drain. She shut the water off and stepped out well within her five-minute time limit.

Before drying off, she held the folded towel against her chest, pressed her nose into it, and breathed in slowly. It didn't smell like much. But it was soft, dry, and clean. More than she would have asked for.

She put her clothes on, purposefully avoiding the mirror until she was dressed. Look away, cover it up, pretend it didn't happen.

She left the bathroom, swinging the door open and right into someone who'd been standing just outside.

" _Ow._ " Nick turned sharply, cursing under his breath and rubbing his lower ribcage, where she'd hit him with the doorknob.

Amelia didn't consider apologizing. Not to him. She draped her hair over her shoulder, using the towel to dry the ends. "What are you doing out here?"

"Don't flatter yourself." He said dismissively. He turned away and rubbed his eyes, though his voice sounded tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour. "Carlos didn't want you left alone upstairs."

Amelia started back downstairs, pausing at the top of the staircase to look back at him. She knew better than to ask questions when the answer would make her angry. That didn't mean she wouldn't do it.

"What?" Nick asked, sounding exhausted and irritated.

"Would you really have shot her?"

Nick crossed his arms defensively, back against the bathroom door.

Amelia wouldn't accept his silence, and came back down the hallway, watching him carefully. She asked again. "If your group had decided to kill her, would you really have gone along with it?"

"If she was bit." Nick answered without making eye contact. "Yeah."

"She wasn't."

"She was bit by something. It looked pretty fucking real."

"But _she wasn't._ "

" _I fucking hear you_." Nick snapped.

Amelia's temper had been quietly seething the entire night. She'd been trying to play her cards right. These people were giving her and Clementine much-needed help and she wouldn't get anywhere by starting fights, verbal or physical. Carlos had made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate any trouble from her. Luke would be the target of her anger without ever retaliating with his own.

Nick, on the other hand...Amelia knew how to recognize a temper that could match her own. He seemed like the type to take her disdain and send it back to her. The dirty look he gave her challenged her to keep pushing him, telling her that if she wanted a fight, he'd be happy to be a part of it. Maybe he needed an outlet as much as she did.

"It already happened," he said. "What does it matter?"

Sizing him up, Amelia noticed he was a head taller than she was. The difference in height didn't daunt her so much as their obvious difference in strength. But decisions fueled by anger were never good ones.

 _Turn around. Walk away. Walk away._

"It matters because you almost killed her."

"Don't give me that." Nick responded exactly the way she'd expected: with sharp, biting words. "We were in a tough spot. We made the best decision we could."

Her response was quick. "You couldn't have made a worse call."

His was even quicker. "Fuck you."

"You're pretty defensive for someone who didn't do anything wrong."

He scowled, a look that didn't mean much when he seemed to do it all the time. "I don't need to take this shit from you. Don't act like you've never done anything to anyone." He had her there. She hadn't expected him to make a valid point like that. It must have shown on her face, because he scoffed at her. "That's what I thought. You're not better than us. You've probably done worse."

There was a difference between what this group had done and the things she'd done in the city. She'd made choices that she didn't think she was capable of, but they'd been under circumstances that made it understandable. There was a difference.

There was.

 _That's convenient. There are excuses for your actions and no one else's._

She remembered that people always saw themselves as the heroes of their own stories, or at the very least, innocent bystanders. She thought she was right when she shot that girl who'd been bitten while she and Kenny were on a supply run in Macon, despite what he'd told her to do. No part of her regretted killing the stranger who abducted Clementine. If she had the chance, she'd do it again; herself, this time, to spare Clementine the guilt.

The St. Johns thought they were right. Vernon and his group thought they'd done the right thing when they stole the only working boat in Savannah and left her group to die. Those bandits probably felt justified in attacking her in the woods; appropriate, since she didn't have any problem killing them. Until now, she hadn't given it a second thought.

She killed two people, less than 12 hours ago. And until now, she hadn't thought anything of it.

No matter how she thought about it, the word "right" seemed to have lost its meaning. Trying to find it only reminded her that the list of people she'd killed was getting longer, and it was only getting easier to do with each name she added.

It was something she didn't want to think about, and like all her unsafe thoughts, she ran from it, down the stairs and into the next room.

* * *

Clementine wasn't in the living room, where it had been decided that they'd spend the night. The next place Amelia decided to look for her was the kitchen. She heard voices, and immediately recognized the familiar contempt of the pregnant woman's voice.

"Don't pull that shit on me. I'm not my husband."

"What?" Clementine said. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Yes you do."

Amelia opened the kitchen door and the woman turned to look at her, clearly irritated. Clementine, still seated at the table, looked up, worried and relieved.

"Am I interrupting?" Amelia asked dryly, walking around the table to put herself between Clementine and the woman. The woman stepped back, apparently too close to Amelia for comfort, and crossed her arms.

"Oh, good. You're here too."

"If you have a problem with her, you can share it with me." Amelia said. "I don't want to feel left out."

Clementine spoke up from behind her sister.

"We just needed some help."

"Well, you got it." the woman answered with venom in her voice. "Now go."

"You think she's a threat?" Amelia asked, nodding toward Clementine. "She doesn't want anything bad for you. Not even after you wanted to have her shot. She's more forgiving than I am."

She scoffed, almost cracking a smile. "Oh, I _know_ you're not trying to threaten me."

"Threats are for people who have nothing to back up what they say. People like you." Amelia took satisfaction in the look that briefly flashed across the woman's face. "I'm giving you a warning. She and I are leaving tomorrow. If you start anything with her before then, I'll end it." The woman could take that to mean what she would.

To her credit, she didn't seem deterred. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm afraid of a college girl who's not even old enough to buy her own drinks."

"Feel free to test me if you don't think I mean it." Amelia glanced down at the woman's stomach. She was eight months along, at least. Amelia surprised even herself by dropping all pretenses of curt abrasiveness to say, "I'd have thought you, of all people, would have compassion for her."

The woman seemed as shocked to hear it as Amelia had been to say it. But she recovered quickly.

"You manipulative little…" she seemed to stop herself, from using words that could escalate their confrontation. "I knew from the moment she showed up she'd be a problem. Now I see where she gets it."

"What are you talking about?"

"She manipulated my husband. Convinced him to steal for her just like she did Carlos' daughter."

"She asked for his help because the rest of you refused."

"Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night. You and her are going to be trouble. She's dangerous, and I can already tell you're no better."

Amelia nodded. "You've got us figured out," she agreed.

"Go ahead. Act like a smart ass. It won't help you when people come to their senses and kick your sorry ass out of here."

Amelia shook her head, frustrated and exhausted. "You really think we want to hurt you?"

"You expect me to believe you just stumbled onto this place? We're in the middle of nowhere. Your timing is pretty damn convenient." Amelia frowned, trying to understand what the woman was implying. "Maybe you are just two stupid girls who got lost in the woods. But if you're working for him, I suggest you leave now and hope I don't ever see you again."

That raised a question – an unpleasant one. Amelia had thought the group reacted to Clementine the way they did for same reason she herself didn't trust strangers: because anyone could be dangerous. If these people were in hiding, if there was someone who would send people out looking for them…that changed things.

"Who are you talking about?"

The woman only turned away. "You're a terrible liar, honey." She paused in the doorway, looked back at Clem and Amelia, and issued them both a warning of her own. "Stay the hell away from my husband."

Amelia called after her. "Who do you think we're working for-?"

The woman was already gone.

In the now-silent room, Amelia turned around to face Clementine.

"Come on," Amelia said quietly, tapping Clem on the shoulder. "Let's go to bed."

* * *

Clementine was on the couch because Amelia refused to take it; this left her on the floor. Clementine used the couch throw as a blanket, and in exchange demanded that Amelia take the couch pillows. She'd agreed. It was fair enough.

Candles burned on the coffee table, making the room smell like artificial pine. The others had long since gone upstairs. They'd heard Carlos talking to a young girl who must have been his daughter, answering her questions repeatedly by telling her no, she couldn't go downstairs. To Amelia's surprise, Luke had stopped on his way up and said goodnight to the both of them. Only Clementine said it back.

And here they were. Sitting in silence, with nothing left to do but something Amelia was not good at.

She cleared her throat. "Nice throw." She hoped Clem would laugh. She didn't. "So…thank you, for what you did. I would've wanted you to run…"

"I know." Clementine cut a sharp look to her sister, hugging her knees to her chest. "And you know I would never do that."

"I do. It worries me."

"It shouldn't. You would do the same for me. You have."

More silence. Amelia wondered what Clementine was thinking, and tried to come up with a way to convince her not to put herself in danger like that anymore, though she already knew there wasn't one. Children learned from the adults in their lives. They copied what they saw, and Clementine had spent the last three years of her childhood watching Amelia, and all the self-destructive, fear-induced damage she caused, to her enemies and to her friends. Some of it wasn't her fault. Some of it was. And Clementine had seen all of it. This, Amelia could never change. She could never again tell Clementine not to put herself in danger; not when Clem had seen her do the opposite a hundred times.

Clementine seemed to misunderstand what her silence meant. "Don't be angry at me."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I almost told Luke. Just don't be mad at me, okay? I really need you on my side, and not mad at me."

Amelia sat up, surprised to hear her say this. "When am I ever-" She stopped when she realized her voice was too loud, and could easily be heard upstairs. She quieted back down to a whisper. "When am I ever not on your side? Even when I'm mad at you. Which I'm not, by the way."

"You seem mad."

Amelia knew this. She knew she seemed angry more often than not. She didn't even have to try anymore.

"Not at you."

"At Luke, then?"

"At all of them. For what they did."

Clementine smoothed the couch throw over her lap, toying with a frayed string. She seemed to be hesitating, which Amelia didn't like. Clementine knew she could tell her anything…didn't she?

"They saved me, Amelia."

"...we don't have any way of knowing what would have happened-"

"Amelia. We know what would have happened. They saved me."

"That's what I was doing."

"They got there first."

They were quiet after that. Amelia held on to her next response. She didn't want to fight with Clementine. Not today.

Clementine went on, and though she didn't sound apologetic, she was sincere. "That's why I wanted to tell him. They saved me, and I feel like we at least owe them the truth."

"You don't owe them anything. That's a dangerous way to think."

"Not with Luke."

"What does that mean?"

"He wouldn't hurt us. And he wouldn't hold it against us if we told him."

"Clementine!" Amelia couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Do you hear yourself? You've known him for a day. Half of which you spent locked in a shed."

"When was the last time we met someone and knew them for more than a day?"

Amelia had nothing to say to that, because her sister was right. She slumped back down into her makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling. Clementine was right.

Still. There was only one safe thing to do. One way to make sure these people would never get the chance to turn on them. In a way, it wasn't even really up to her. "We're leaving tomorrow, Clementine."

"We're not dead." Clem said, the frustration rising in her voice. "They gave us food, and stitches, and a place to sleep, and we're not dead. Isn't that enough to give them a chance?"

"They don't want us here."

"Maybe because they can tell you don't want to be here."

"It's not a secret." she said, trying to keep her voice below a whisper. "Do you want to be here?" Again, she didn't answer right away.

"Not really. But if we give it some time we'll both change our minds."

"We don't have 'some time,' Clem."

"All we have is time. What else were we doing?"

Getting attacked. Looking through garbage for food. Running out of things to burn at night. Hiding from strangers and wondering where to go next. Clementine seemed to judge Amelia's silence to mean that she'd made her point. Amelia confirmed it when she resorted to her least favorite fallback: the one that meant Clementine had a point and she was out of ways to argue with it.

"We're not done talking about this."

"I didn't think we were."

Clementine rolled into the couch and went to sleep.


	6. Smile

Amelia woke the next morning to hear voices, footsteps, plates stacking – all the sounds of a busy household. If she closed her eyes again, she could almost imagine it was just that: a normal house that was home to a normal family.

She tried, until Clementine shook her awake by the shoulder. Amelia opened her eyes, and as she sat up, she noticed she was wrapped in a blanket that hadn't been there when she went to sleep. It wasn't the couch throw Clementine had used. That was draped over the arm of the couch, where Clem had left it. This one was her own, and she had no idea how long it had been there.

Amelia didn't like it. She didn't like waking up to find things different from the way she left them. Blankets appearing out of thin air made her nervous – it meant someone had been in her personal space while she'd been asleep and she didn't wake up to notice. She hoped it had been Clementine.

"Where did you find this?"

Her sister shrugged and mumbled a non-word that sounded vaguely like, "Idunno."

Amelia looked at her expectantly, confused by her short, non-committal answer. It was unlike her. Something was different about her.

Clem raised an eyebrow.

"I was getting worried. I've never not been able to wake you up before."

"What do you mean?"

Clementine set a handful of items on the floor, things Amelia hadn't noticed she was holding. She set down a bottle of water by Amelia's pillow, alongside a small tube of first aid antibiotic. She took a palm-sized adhesive Band-Aid from her pocket and started trying to find the split in the packaging.

"I came in earlier and you wouldn't wake up. I wasn't even sure you were breathing." She said as she tore it open.

To say Amelia was confused was an understatement. From what her sister was telling her, she'd have expected her to be upset. Sad. Nervous, maybe. She'd seen more of Clementine feeling that way than she could remember. But the subtle smile on her face, way she flicked at the wrapper when it stuck to her fingers, the way she uncapped the antibiotic and drew a whimsical squiggly shape on the Band-Aid said otherwise.

And was she…humming?

"Clementine," Amelia said cautiously.

Clementine saw the way she was looking at her, and misunderstood what it meant. "I really don't know where the blanket came from. I would tell you. It was there when I woke up. It looks soft though, so…" She reached out and ran her fingers over it. Her eyes widened and she looked at Amelia hopefully. "It is. Want to trade?"

"..."

"Or not," Clem shrugged, and gestured for Amelia to push her hair out of her face. She did, and Clem placed the Band-Aid over her stitches, tucking it neatly under her bangs. "Luke said you would be fine. He said it's normal to sleep like that when you…have the kind of day you had. We played a board game while we waited."

Ah. That was it.

That was where the lights in her eyes were coming from. She was having a good morning for the first time in…Amelia didn't know how long.

Amelia touched the Band-Aid, and her head wound flared up in protest. "Thanks."

"Carlos gave it to me. I didn't even have to ask."

Amelia cleared her throat. She knew what she had to say was about to ruin Clementine's mood. So she put it off for just a little longer.

"What game did you play?" She found herself smiling. It had been that long since she'd seen Clementine even a little bit happy.

"Risk. They don't have Monopoly. I asked." Amelia didn't intend to play any board games, but the thought that Clementine had asked about her favorite game made her smile.

"You played Risk?" Amelia said doubtfully. She knew the game. She'd played it before, and she knew her sister. If money had still been worth anything, she'd have bet that Clem hated it.

Clementine rolled her eyes. "I don't see what's so great about it. It's too complicated to be any fun. Plus, we're missing a lot of pieces. I had to use pennies instead of horses. But Luke and Nick really like it." She reached for the water bottle, twisting the cap off and handing it to Amelia. She took it. "Which is weird, because they're both pretty bad at it." She seemed to give it a second thought. "Nick is kind of good at it."

"Who won?"

"We didn't get to finish. Nick was winning before we had to stop. But if you play next time, we can do teams."

Here it was. She didn't want to do it, but it had to be done. "Clem."

"You have to be on a team with either me or Luke. You've played it before, so if you're on Nick's side it won't be fair."

She was starting to think her sister was ignoring her on purpose. If she was, they both knew why. "Clem."

"I know what you're going to say. Pete wants you to come fishing with us. So can we just…do that first?"

Amelia sighed, running her hands over her face. This was going to be hard to do without her sister resenting her for it.

"Do you understand why we have to leave?" she asked gently. "I need you to know I'm not doing this just to do it. There's a reason."

Clem crossed her arms. "I know. I just don't think it's a good reason."

"How's that?"

"People have looked for us. And found us. And we're still here. I'd say it worked out fine."

Amelia fought the sudden discomfort that always came when she thought about, let alone discussed, their days in Savannah. "I wouldn't call anything about that 'fine'."

Clementine looked over Amelia's shoulder, staring at nothing. She was somewhere else, and Amelia saw her come out of it by closing her eyes.

"We're still alive, and still together. It could've gone a lot worse."

 _Could've gone worse._ If that was the way Clementine thought about their run-in with the first man she ever killed, a man she shot in the back of the head when she was nine years old…Amelia couldn't decide if she should've felt grateful for that or frightened.

Amelia took a breath and began carefully, "You're right about that, but these people are involved in something and we-"

"We could've used help when that guy was following us. We didn't have much help, and…you know what happened."

Yes. Amelia knew what happened.

She felt uneasy. Clementine was starting to sound like she had a point. A real point, that Amelia couldn't reject with _new people are dangerous._ "They just need our help, that's all. This won't be a problem forever."

Amelia sank down onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to think. Clementine wasn't wrong. These people had proven they weren't mindless killers when she knocked on their front door and they didn't execute her on the porch. It was a low standard, but that was all it took these days.

She had always tried to steer her sister away from new people. She knew for a fact that it had saved their lives more than once. But there would come a point when running from people was more trouble than it was worth. More often than not, the paths that lead to safety were hard to tell apart from the ones that lead to death.

"I'll think about it."

A smile spread slowly across Clementine's face as she realized that Amelia meant what she was saying.

"You will?"

"It's a maybe. No promises."

Clementine nodded, still smiling ear-to-ear. "Okay. Maybe. Maybe is good."

"Please don't get too attached to the idea."

"Okay. Okay, I won't. It's just…" Clementine shook her head, knowing she was doing the opposite of what she was saying. "I'm really glad you're thinking about it, that's all. Sarah will be really excited to hear that. And Luke will be happy, too. So, we're going fishing, right?"

"I don't know."

Amelia tried not to make any promises she couldn't keep. Her sister's excitement was bittersweet; she knew there was still a chance she'd disappoint her later.

Still, it was nice to see.

In the silence, Clem still seemed to have something on her mind. Amelia looked at her and waited for her to say it.

"You should try talking to them."

"Sure."

"Don't just say you will and then not do it." Clem said, smirking. "I'm serious. They're actually really nice."

"They weren't last night."

"Neither were you."

She had her there. "I'm sure they've been very nice. It's easy to be nice to you, Clem." It wasn't a secret, to either of them and certainly not to the people in this house. Clementine was much more likeable than her sister. Amelia knew this, and had never lost sleep over it.

"We're not that different, Amelia."

Amelia wondered how her sister always managed to keep a sense of sincerity after all these years, how she still knew how to say things that made Amelia feel better about herself.

"I think you're the only one who thinks that."

"If you give them a chance to treat you like their friend, they will."

 _Not after last night._ "I don't know if…" _If things can be fixed. If I want them to be fixed._ "…if it's going to work. I had a pretty bad start with them, Clementine."

Clementine shrugged. "So did I." Her face lit up as a sudden thought occurred to her. "We'll do it like this. If one of them does something nice for you this morning, then we have to go fishing and stay for dinner."

She extended a hand intended for Amelia to shake. Amelia only looked at it. These were the terms she wanted? Had she forgotten the way the pregnant woman had all but told her to fuck off the night before?

"You're serious?" she said doubtfully.

Clem nodded. "I mean it. If one of them does something nice for you, we have to stay."

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

"For dinner, I mean."

Amelia didn't think her sister had much of a chance of winning. Clem hadn't been there to see either of the times she pushed Luke away, or when she and Nick almost came to physical blows _._ She wasn't proud of herself for doing those things. But now that Clem had given her a guilt-free way to leave before dinner, she couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Fine." She shook on it, striking their deal.

"And you have to say thank you." Clementine added.

"Sure." That was fair enough.

"And smile."

"You're pushing it."

Clem let go of her hand and the mischief gave way to sincerity. "You have a really pretty smile. You just never do it anymore."

"You know how hard it is to say no to you?"

Clem smiled and shrugged in a way that said yes, yes she did.

Luke pushed open the kitchen door and made his way into the room. He was holding a white bowl and had something in his other hand, inside a closed fist.

He caught Clementine's attention when he came in. From the look on her face, she was clearly happy he was in the room.

"Morning. I heard voices in here, figured it meant you were awake." He crouched next to Clementine to bring himself closer to Amelia's level on the floor. He gave her the bowl, which Amelia found held warm rice and canned peaches. "This is for you, and…" He held out his fist like a cashier giving back change. Amelia realized he was waiting to drop something small into her hand.

It was aspirin. Three little white tablets. Luke gestured to the bowl in her other hand. "That should help with your head, but you have to take it with food."

Amelia blinked, confused and unsure of what to say. She held her hand out to Clementine, and was about to tell her to take the pills for her arm when Luke said,

"She's already got some. Well just one, seeing how she's so little." Amelia searched his face for traces of bitterness, of contempt for her and found none. It was as if the night before had never happened.

"They help a lot." Clementine said.

Amelia shot her a look. "You knew."

"I didn't." Clem smiled.

"You planned it."

"I really didn't." Her smile grew even bigger; it seemed to grow with Amelia's disbelief.

"Cheater."

Luke looked back and forth between the two of them, looking like he'd been left out of a joke. "What are you talking about?"

"You shook on it." Clementine reminded her.

"Is there…" Luke hesitated, his grin fading. "…something wrong, here?"

Clementine shook her head, getting to her feet. "Nope. Not at all." She headed for the kitchen, leaving Amelia and Luke in silence after the door closed behind her.

Amelia forced herself to stop staring into the food he brought her. She shook on it. She looked up at Luke and held eye contact with him while she said,

"Thank you." She did not smile.

He did. "You're very welcome."

And neither of them had anything more to say. The discomfort became unbearable and Amelia pulled her blanket over her head, retreating down into her bed and burying herself in the throw pillows.

After a moment she heard Luke start to say something, then stop short. The next thing she heard was the sound of his footsteps as he got up and left the room.

* * *

Amelia waited for half an hour, hoping the fact that the house had gone quiet meant that she wouldn't run into anyone if she left the living room. She carried her empty dish into the kitchen and considered turning back when she found it wasn't empty.

The pregnant couple sat across from each other at the kitchen table, still in the middle of breakfast. Clem had told her their names were Alvin and Rebecca. Nick leaned against the counter, drinking something cold out of a chipped coffee mug. His rifle was propped up against a cabinet by his feet, barrel-up. All of them acknowledged her when she came in, and no one said a word.

She'd shared harsh words with two of the three people in this room, and it was safe to guess the third didn't like her, either. She was about to leave the way she came when Luke walked in from the dining room.

"Morning," he said to no one in particular. He opened the fridge and bent slightly to look inside. The shelves were scarce – Amelia spotted containers of unidentified leftovers and a handful of fruit. Luke's hand hovered between a bruised apple and half of a banana.

"Morning," Alvin said, surprising Amelia with the pleasant tone of this voice. "Watch went okay last night?"

Luke and Nick both answered.

"Went alright."

"Pretty quiet."

Apple in hand, Luke straightened up and asked Amelia, "How'd you sleep?"

"Uh-" she hesitated, then nodded. "Fine."

"Good to hear," he smiled.

Amelia went to the sink. She wasn't about to smile back. But she had to admit, if only to herself, that Luke had changed the mood of the entire room. A smile and a warm greeting was all it took to start conversation, and the conversation felt…strange. It had been a long time since the motor inn; a long time without _good mornings_ and quiet breakfasts.

" _Hey, kid. You sleep okay?"_

Amelia washed out her bowl with what was left of the sponge. She left it in a stack on the counter, with the rest of the "clean" dishes the others had finished with.

"There any more coffee?" Luke asked the room.

"Nope." Nick said with a straight face, before taking another sip from his mug.

"Nice." Luke punched him in the arm, not serious but not gentle. His fist hit Nick's upper arm with a sharp _pop_ ; Nick flinched at the impact and smirked.

"Gonna cry about it?"

Rebecca pressed her palms to her forehead, covering her eyes.

"If you're going to fuck around, _take it outside_."

The two boys exchanged a look, shocked at how quickly she'd gone off. Amelia leaned back against the sink and avoided eye contact with all of them. She didn't share their surprise. On some days, it had been just as easy to upset her mother when she was pregnant with Clementine.

Alvin reached out to touch her arm. Rebecca looked up at him and took his hand, looking exhausted.

"Sorry, Rebecca," Luke said gently.

Alvin nodded to him, and said with a patient smile, "Bec's not feeling great today." He lowered his voice and said to her, "But you look fantastic."

Rebecca smiled – it was small and fleeting, but her husband seemed to take it as a victory.

"We'll keep it down." Luke said, glancing at Nick, who didn't offer an apology of his own until Luke nudged him with an elbow. "Right?"

"Yeah. Sure. Sorry, Rebecca." he mumbled and went in for another sip of coffee.

"You ready for the trip to the river, Amelia?" Alvin asked.

It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her, even after he used her name. She tried to get past her extreme discomfort at staying in a house with these people and remember that Alvin had stolen supplies for Clementine, against the wishes of his wife and his group. His actions said a lot about him. Amelia wasn't one to forget favors like that, so she nodded in reply and tried to smile.

"Apparently Clementine volunteered me for it."

"That she did." He shook his head a chuckled. His laugh was genuine and contagious. Amelia found it a little easier to smile. "Well, watch your back out there. And stick together. It's always good to stick together."

Rebecca didn't have any advice to offer – instead she shot Amelia a dirty look.

"I will." She hesitated just a bit too long before she added, "Thanks."

Amelia wanted to leave and wasn't sure why. She quickly crossed the kitchen to head back into the living room, and found herself stopping in front of Luke and saying,

"Hey."

"Uh…hey." He answered with a careful smile that said this conversation was a surprise, but a pleasant one. Nick had turned away to face the sink, but Amelia knew the look of someone who was listening over his shoulder.

Amelia shifted uncomfortably. She told herself that all she had to do was say it. Then she could leave. "Thanks for the blanket."

Nick loudly dropped his coffee cup into the sink; it audibly broke and he left the mess behind, picking up his rifle and heading toward the door.

"Hey, man, what the hell?" Luke tried to get his attention as he walked out. "Nick-"

Nick slammed the door behind him.

Looking back to Amelia, Luke crossed his arms and shook his head. "Sometimes I don't know what's wrong with him." But his frown quickly relaxed back into his usual easy expression. "Anyway. I-"

"Come on, kids," Pete walked in, carrying a rifle of his own. "We're burning daylight, and whatnot." He looked to Amelia. "Your sister's already outside. She's pretty set on going. I assume you'll want to come with her?"

Damn straight. She wasn't about to let Clementine go anywhere without her.

Amelia noticed her climbing axe strapped to Pete's belt and decided it was best not to mention it.

"When do we leave?"

"Right now. Luke, you're good to hold things down here?"

Luke nodded. "'Course. You might want to talk to Nick. He's outside."

Pete sighed. He probably knew the answer before he asked, "He on another tear today?"

Luke answered with a knowing look and a nod. "Weird part is he seemed fine a minute ago."

Pete understood and muttered to himself, "Goddamn it, that kid…well, come on, then." He gestured for Amelia to follow him and left the room.

"You be safe out there, alright?" Luke said.

Amelia searched his face for signs of sarcasm or insincerity. She didn't expect any friendly gestures after the way she'd brushed him off last night, but he'd shown her nothing but kindness since then.

She nodded, trying not to give him a dirty look in her confusion. "Yeah."

She left the house quickly.


	7. Alone

Amelia and Clementine walked side-by-side down a wide path that had been cut through the forest. They were, more or less, in the same area of the woods Amelia had stumbled through the night before, frantically searching for her sister and denying the very likely possibility that she was dead.

This place felt different today, for reasons aside from the obvious.

Amelia had been trying to figure out why. It could've been the daytime. The early morning sunlight fell gently through the trees. Traces of pink and purple still lingered from the sunrise, and even the birds were quiet. It could've been Clementine, walking next to her and talking excitedly about the people they'd met, namely Luke, and Carlos' daughter Sarah. It had been a long time since Amelia had seen her smile like that, let alone get this excited.

Then she understood.

They weren't alone. Pete walked ahead of them. Nick lagged behind, having wandered off into the trees, but they knew he was close. Both were armed. Amelia was so accustomed to paranoid vigilance that she felt strange and disoriented, and she hardly recognized that it was no longer needed. She felt…relaxed knowing that she didn't need to watch the trees in every direction, that the walkers couldn't take her by surprise. Even if they did, she'd have help.

"Nick said you look nice today."

She scoffed. No he didn't.

What are you talking about…?" Amelia trailed off, watching Pete, who was too far ahead of them to hear. She checked the trees to his right, and to his left, feeling a need to watch his back the way he was watching hers.

"I mean, not exactly," Clementine shrugged. "He was talking to Pete while you were still inside. He said it was dark last night, and you were covered in…gross stuff."

"He said that in front of you?"

Clementine put her hands in her pockets and smiled mischievously. "They didn't see me."

" _Duck's always blaming me for everything."_

" _Like what?"_

" _Putting a bug on his pillow."_

" _Did you do that?"_

"… _yes."_

Clementine seemed determined not to let the subject change. "He said you look different today."

"Different."

"That's what he said. He probably meant nice."

"I'm sure." Amelia knew this wasn't important. But she thought of a question and couldn't resist asking. "What did Pete say to that?"

Clementine smiled again, pleased that Amelia was showing interest in her story. She frowned and tilted her head in thought. "I don't know if I should say what he said."

Amelia stopped walking, and Clem did the same. Purposeful disinterest was Amelia's defense mechanism of choice. But even she wasn't predisposed to human curiosity. She had to know.

"Just between us." She said. "Come on, you have to tell me now."

Clem threw a glance over each shoulder to make sure Pete and Nick weren't within earshot. She lowered her voice.

"Pete told Nick not to be stupid…and to, um…'keep it in his pants.'"

The two stifled a laugh; the first one they'd shared in a long time.

"You alright back there?" Pete called to them, having noticed that they'd stopped walking. Putting on a straight face, Amelia caught up to him, and Clementine followed closely behind.

"Fine, we're good. You?" Amelia said.

Pete looked between them, clearly suspicious at the lingering smiles the two were badly hiding. He briefly flashed a good-natured smile of his own before deciding to let it go, and turning around to continue their walk.

"How're you holding up, Clementine? I heard you got an earful from Rebecca last night. Once she gets going, there's no bringing her back."

Amelia looked to her sister, who obviously shared her concern. If he'd heard about their exchange last night, it must have been from Rebecca herself. With a few choice words and exaggerations, she could've given Pete the wrong idea. Was he going somewhere with this?

Pete glanced back at Clementine, and Amelia saw a gentle face and a half-smile. He didn't seem angry with them, or even wary of them. He was trying to make light of a situation that had been, and still was, uncomfortably tense. "I promise her bark is worse than her bite."

Clementine frowned, probably thinking back to last night. "What's her problem?"

"Well, she's got a lot on her mind lately." They came to a deep, wide ditch in the ground. Someone had laid a door across the gap as a makeshift bridge. Pete stepped across carefully, then stopped and turned back to watch Amelia and Clementine cross. "Bringing a baby into a world like this?"

The door creaked, loudly and slowly as Clementine crossed it. Amelia stepped on, trying to keep to its center. It creaked again.

"Careful now," Pete said. "That thing's probably been out here for ages."

"You didn't put this here?" Amelia asked, crossing quickly and stepping onto solid ground.

"We haven't been here long. Found the cabin a couple months back."

"How far are these fish traps?" Clementine asked as the three resumed walking.

"It ain't much further." Pete answered, though his mind appeared to be somewhere else. They walked in silence for a minute or two, before he stopped abruptly. Amelia and Clementine stopped too, looking at him questioningly.

"The rest of the group wouldn't like this…hell, I don't much like it myself. But I brought you out here so you could help if things went south. And having extra hands doesn't do much good unless you've got a weapon." Pete detached Amelia's climbing axe from his belt and held it out to her. "Can I trust you with this?"

Amelia noticed the steel blade was reflecting sunlight, and the rust and blood that stained its yellow handle a reddish-brown were gone; two things she hadn't seen in a while.

"You cleaned it," she said, surprised.

"That doesn't answer my question."

She nodded, reaching for it a little too quickly. "Yeah, of course-"

Pete pulled it away, out of her reach. "Amelia." She recognized the grave, paternal tone of his voice. "Am I going to regret this?"

Amelia realized he was trying to make her understand the risk he was taking; that the group didn't take arming strangers lightly and neither should she, being the stranger.

She shook her head and sincerely told him, "No."

"Alright then." Pete gripped it beneath the blade and held it out to her handle-first.

Holding the axe felt familiar, in the best possible way. She'd felt naked when she had to leave it behind, suddenly without something she held and used every day. Muscle memory kicked in as she tested its weight in one hand, then the other. Irrational as it seemed, she'd grown attached to the thing.

That wouldn't stop her from giving it back, should she ever get the chance.

 _You won't. She's most likely dead, like everyone else._

"You had that thing awhile?" Pete interrupted her train of thought, and she was grateful he did. He resumed walking toward the river, and Amelia and Clementine fell into step behind him.

"Yeah. A long time."

"Anyone teach you girls to shoot?" he asked. "By that I mean taught proper. Any idiot with a finger can shoot."

Clementine answered with a smile. "Amelia taught me."

Pete smiled in return, then looked to Amelia. "And who taught you? Don't mean to offend you, but you must have learned from someone, being from the city. City girls don't know how to hold a gun, let alone how to shoot."

Amelia nodded. "Fair enough." It was true. Before the world fell apart, she'd never touched a gun in her life. They used to scare the hell out of her, to be honest. But circumstances changed, and she had to change in response.

" _First, don't be afraid of it. It's just a thing."_

" _A thing that kills people."_

" _You can't learn if you're only doing it halfway. You either do it or you don't, kid."_

"Our friend taught her." Clementine said carefully when Amelia didn't volunteer an answer. "Her name was Carley."

"Glad someone did." Pete nodded. "It's important nowadays."

"We never learned with a rifle, though." Clementine said.

"May be for the best." Pete glanced down at the rifle he was carrying. "This thing would knock you on your ass." He looked at Amelia. "You too, probably."

"I think I could handle it," Amelia found herself smiling. Truthfully, she had no idea if she'd be able to fire that rifle and stay on her feet. She'd never shot anything larger than a handgun, and the kick was still enough to make her palms hurt.

"I'll have to show you then," Pete smiled back at her. "The recoil can be a real horse-kick, but who knows? You could do alright."

"When can I learn?" Clementine asked.

Amelia tried to shoot her a look, one she ignored. Unless Pete's answer was "before dinner," it wasn't going to happen. But Clementine believed what she wanted to.

Pete chuckled. "Not for a while, Clementine. You know, Nick was about your age the first time I took him hunting. Came across this beautiful thirteen-point buck just standing there on the ridgeline."

Amelia didn't care much to hear about Nick. She didn't care much for him. He'd gone off the path a way's back, and frankly she'd been hoping he'd gone back to the cabin. But Clementine was listening intently, and she knew why. Amelia had never been good at telling stories.

"The boy takes the rifle, he lines up the shot just like I taught him…" Pete demonstrated by lifting his own rifle, eyeing an imaginary buck in its crosshairs. "…and then I hear him start whining." He lowered the gun and looked down at Clementine, altering his voice to do an accurately whining impression of Nick. "He turns to me and he says, 'I can't do it. I can't shoot it, Uncle Pete. Please don't make me shoot it.'"

"Really?" Clementine grinned. "No way."

"Hey!" Nick called from the distance, jogging to catch up and slowing to a stop in front of them. "Why didn't you wait?"

Amelia noted that the walk had been nice, while it lasted.

It wasn't his moody aggressiveness she didn't like so much as his incompetence with a gun. According to Clementine, he'd been the first to believe she was bitten and his itchy trigger finger almost killed her before they had a chance to figure it out. Accident or not, Amelia held him to the same rules as everyone else. She didn't forget her own mistakes. She wouldn't forget his.

"You want us standing around while you piss on a tree?" Pete answered without humor in his words. "You know where the river is, boy."

Amelia didn't like the way he held his rifle, finger on the trigger and barely paying attention to where it was pointing. She nudged Clementine to stand on her other side, so that Amelia stood between her and the barrel of Nick's gun, should it go off.

Pete seemed to notice this. Nick didn't.

Pete continued walking and addressed Clementine, who stepped around Amelia to walk next to him while he talked. Amelia followed them, staying in front of Nick to avoid eye contact. The two had already exchanged several dirty looks that morning and she didn't feel the need for any more.

"Anyway, so I grab the gun out of his hand before the big buck runs off, when _bang._ The gun fires. Boy nearly gut-shot me. And of course the buck gets away."

"What are you going and telling them this shit for?" Nick snapped.

Pete stopped and turned quickly, giving an answer he obviously had ready. "Because you almost blew Clementine's face off yesterday. Seems relevant. Trying to let her know it's nothing personal with you."

"Why are you always giving me a hard time?"

"Because you're always giving everyone else a hard time!"

Amelia was pleased to see someone calling him out. But Nick surprised her by saying,

"I apologized already. She accepted."

Clementine jumped in. "He did. Really, it's okay."

Amelia disagreed.

Pete seemed as surprised as she was. "Alright, well I didn't know that."

Amelia wasn't ready to be as forgiving as her sister. "You think that fixes it?"

"Who asked you?"

Amelia felt a quick pulse of anger surge through her. She turned to face him, squaring her shoulders and closing the small gap of space between them.

"Alright, that's enough." Pete pulled her back with a hand on her shoulder. Agreeing that breaking this up was for the best, Amelia turned away.

Nick saw the climbing axe in her hand when she turned. "You gave her a weapon?"

"Yes, Nick, I did." Pete was clearly losing patience. "Not everyone here is a danger to the group with a weapon in their hands."

"You think you can trust her?"

"It's an axe. We've got guns. If you're still afraid of her-"

"I didn't say I'm afraid!" Nick snapped at Pete, pointing an accusatory finger at Amelia. "We shouldn't give weapons to people we can't trust."

"Well, it wasn't your call to make, son." Pete said dismissively.

"Stop calling me son!" Nick said. "You're trying to get us all killed."

Amelia glared at him; there was no trace of humor in her voice. "Must be. He lets you carry a gun."

"Fuck you."

"Original."

Clementine interjected, looking worried. "Guys, stop fighting-"

"I ain't telling you again. _Knock it off!_ " Pete raised his voice, something Amelia guessed didn't happen often, but could quiet a room when it did. "This ain't the time or the place. I'd tell you to take it back to the cabin, but frankly I don't want to hear it there, either. So this conversation is over. I don't want to hear either of you speak another word to each other until we get back. Understand?"

"Why are you taking the middle on this?" Nick asked sharply. "You're supposed to be on our side."

"There are no sides, Nick! The day you grow up and figure that out is the day your life becomes a hell of a lot easier." Pete waved a hand toward Amelia and Clementine. "These two ain't our enemies. They might be, if you keep on like this." He turned back to the path, muttering to himself. "Two grown adults acting like children. Y'all are gonna make me put you in separate rooms when we get back..."

"Whatever. You know I have to tell Carlos about this." The tone of his voice said it wasn't something he wanted to do.

"While you're at it, ask Luke about how to talk to girls without cursing them out."

For a second, Nick's eyes widened in shock and anger. He looked briefly to Amelia before focusing again on Pete. "You're always trying to embarrass me!"

"You're doing a good enough job of that on your own!"

Nick had apparently had enough. He passed his uncle, roughly knocking into his shoulder before walking ahead down the path.

"Leaving us again?"

"I know where the fucking river is." The path opened up to a clearing, and Amelia could see water on the other side. Nick disappeared over a hill that sloped down into the riverbank.

No one spoke in the silence that followed. Pete sighed, shaking his head in exhaustion.

"Im sorry." Amelia said, finally. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

"If it ain't you, it's something else." Pete said, shaking his head. "It's always something else."

Clementine hesitated to ask, "Can I hear the rest of the story?"

Amelia was about to interject, thinking that wasn't a good idea. But Pete seemed to appreciate the distraction. He even smiled. "Of course. I found that buck later that season. Shot it right in the neck. I brought it up to my sister's, thinking she'd want to freeze some of the meat. Nick didn't speak to me for weeks."

Pete looked out to the clearing in the trees. Nick was nowhere to be seen.

"Sometimes you gotta play a role…even if it means the people you love hate you for it."

"He doesn't hate you," Clementine said. "You should see me and Amelia fight."

Pete shook his head again. "Nick's father wasn't there much, and he was a piece of shit when he was. So it fell to me to keep him in line. Raise him right. Meant I couldn't just be nice Uncle Pete."

Amelia was unmoved. Nick's dad was a loser. Hers was dead. So was everyone else's by now. Everyone had been through plenty since the outbreak. It didn't make him special. She walked ahead of the group to follow Nick, having decided she wanted to empty the fish traps and get back to the cabin. They wouldn't stay long after that.

" _Uncle Pete_!"

The terror and panic in his voice was an unwelcome familiarity. Amelia sprinted over the hillside, knowing that if he'd run into walkers and he was as bad a shot as his uncle said he was, he'd already be bitten or dead.

Amelia stopped abruptly when she caught up to him, scanning the clearing for upright figures and finding none. Pete wasn't far behind.

"Nick…?" he said, followed closely by Clementine. His voice trailed off, and he froze the same way Nick and Amelia had, realizing the horror of the scene in front of him just as slowly as they had.

To call it massacre would've been a severe understatement. Amelia counted seven bodies from where she stood, knowing what she could see probably wasn't all there was. They were scattered around the river, some on the bank, some face-down in the water. All of them were bent and laying in unnatural positions, broken and tangled in a mess of blood and dirt. She could see bullet wounds in the heads of those closest to her.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph…" Pete said quietly.

Nick didn't speak. Amelia glanced sideways and saw his hands shaking despite his white-knuckled grip on his rifle. She looked out that the bodies and didn't know what to say. God, there were so many...

Pete stepped forward, approaching the nearest corpse and poking it in the shoulder with the barrel of his rifle. "Fulla holes."

"Who do you think did this?" Clementine asked. Her voice was suddenly quiet, as if she thought the person who did this was hiding nearby, listening. For all they knew, that could've been true.

Nick didn't answer, but Amelia heard him draw in a short breath before he lowered his gun. She stole a glance up at his face, and saw pity, and disappointment, and anger…

Nick caught her staring, and she didn't bother to pretend she hadn't been. He scowled at her. He might've had something cutting to say. But he was smart enough to know it wasn't worth saying. Not now.

"Not sure yet." Pete said. "But it ain't your average gang of thugs, that much I know."

"Did you know these people?" Amelia purposely directed her question to him.

"Think about it." Nick addressed his uncle, ignoring Amelia. "You're Carver, what do you do?"

Amelia was about to ask when Clementine beat her to it. "Who's Carver?"

She looked between Pete and Nick, and neither of them answered. They exchanged a glance that made her uneasy.

Whatever this was, it was very, very bad.

Pete nodded at Nick, telling him, "Check those guys there. Be careful. Some of them might still be moving."

"Where are you going?" Nick demanded. "We need to get the fuck out of here!"

Pete didn't slow down. "Gotta check the rest."

"What? Why?!"

Pete ignored his protests as he started wading knee-deep through the water to get the other bank. "Calm down and think about it son."

"Calm down?" Nick snapped. "We gotta get out of here, now!"

"Jesus Christ, kid, get ahold of yourself." Pete stopped on the other side and turned around.

"We should leave." Amelia said. That much, she knew. She and Clementine stayed alive by avoiding conflict. That meant avoiding people. Living or otherwise, they were always a sign of trouble. "Whatever you're hoping to find isn't worth it. We need to go."

"What if someone's alive, Amelia?" Clementine asked.

Nick answered harshly, "Who cares?"

Amelia glared at him. That wasn't what she meant.

"What?" he said. "We don't have time to worry about them."

Amelia shook her head, conflicted. Once again, her sister had backed her into a corner. More than once, she'd been in a bad situation and was saved only by the kindness of strangers. She could've named three people, at the drop of a hat, who'd saved her life when they didn't have to.

Carley. Omid. Molly. She would have died a long time ago if it weren't for the choices they made. It occurred to her that she never really deserved the things they did for her. She found herself thinking that most days.

 _Do something for someone else. One time._

Amelia stepped around Nick and jumped onto a large flat rock in the middle of the water. She cleared the other side and joined Pete, motioning for Clementine to do the same.

Left alone, Nick said,

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"If someone's alive, they might be inclined to tell us who did this. We gotta do this now." Pete said. Amelia could hear his growing impatience with Nick as he instructed, "Stay here. Keep searching the bodies."

"This is a dumb idea," Nick said. Contrary to his usual manner, he wasn't dismissive or moody. Like Amelia, he was worried. Nervous and pleading for Pete to listen to him.

"You know Nick, I don't like this either, but sooner or later you're gonna to have to realize a simple truth."

"What?" he said defensively. "That you're an asshole?"

"That nobody in this world is ever gonna give a goddamn whether you like something or not. You gotta grow up, son."

Nick looked hurt, before replacing his expression with a scowl. He walked off into the mess of bodies, mumbling,

"Whatever."

Pete didn't waste any time. "Come on, Clem." He used her sister's nickname; Amelia noticed, and didn't dislike it. "You want to be useful, keep a lookout on that tree-line. Whoever did this might still be out there. Waitin' for another sucker to stumble across this mess."

"I'm on it." Clementine answered.

"Are you always so agreeable?"

Clem crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Good. You'll fit right in with this outfit. Just keep your head on straight, both of you."

Amelia nodded toward the trees, where she could see several more mangled bodies. "Clem and I will check over there."

"No." Pete said, turning to her. "Look, Amelia, you might not like it, but…" He looked out across the river – Amelia followed his line of sight to Nick on the other side, whose back was turned as he inspected one of the bodies.

She looked back to Pete and said dryly, "You want me to babysit."

"That's the idea." Pete said, somewhat apologetic. "I'll rest easier knowing someone is watching his back. I'll keep an eye on Clementine."

"I don't need to be watched," Clementine said. She'd reminded Amelia of this many times before.

"Is that so?" Amelia spoke before she realized who she sounded like. Once she did, it was too late to take it back – the smirk on Clementine's face made that clear.

"I'd appreciate you doing this." Pete said. "And I'd be sure to let the group know."

Amelia looked over her shoulder at Nick, who was moving to another body. Pete seemed to think she wanted to earn the trust of a group that she didn't trust herself. More than that, he seemed to think she and Clementine planned on staying. But she knew what it was like to have loved ones in this world, and that was enough.

She turned back to him. "Tell me about Carver first."

Pete seemed prepared for the question. "Not now. When we all get back safe."

"He did this, didn't he?"

"We don't know that for sure."

"Is he the type to do something like this?"

The look that crossed Pete's face told her yes – but then again, she already knew the answer was yes, just like Pete already knew who was behind this. She thought back to how quickly Nick had come up with Carver's name. They knew. And Amelia knew that if this was the person looking for them, then this group was in more trouble than she was prepared to deal with. She glanced down at Clementine, who was watching them carefully. Amelia wasn't about to drag her into the middle of another mess. If Pete's group was about to become the next pile of bodies, she and Clementine would be far away when it happened.

"Look, I know what has to happen here." Pete said.

"You're going to leave." Amelia said, thinking "run" would have been a better word.

"Soon as we get back. We'll talk about the two of you coming with us. But we need to make sure there are no survivors here."

Amelia decided that was fair enough. She turned to Clementine.

"Don't step near the face unless you know it's brain dead, understand?"

"I know," Clementine reminded her, mildly annoyed.

"Good." With another glance toward Pete, which he answered with a nod, Amelia turned back to cross the river again, making her way toward Nick.

He was prodding a corpse with the barrel of his gun when Amelia caught up to him. He looked at her over his shoulder, but otherwise barely acknowledged her.

He moved from one body to the next, and Amelia crouched to search the pockets of the one closest to her.

She didn't find much, and wasn't surprised. No one carried ID anymore. She would have been shocked if she'd found money.

"What do you think you're doing?" Nick snapped from behind her. "Look at its head. You trying to get bit?"

Amelia realized he was right – the head was intact. The corpse hadn't come back, but there she was, rifling through his pockets when she hadn't bothered to check for a head wound. She kicked herself, not for putting herself in danger but for being careless. She didn't need to worry about getting bitten, ever again. But no one else knew that, and she wanted to keep it that way.

She picked up her axe and put a hole in the corpse's head. She went back to searching him and found a lighter in the lining of his jacket. She flicked it, and found that it still worked.

"What are you really doing here?" Nick asked her suddenly. She stood and turned around to see him watching her. He didn't look or sound like he was trying to start another fight. His words were accusatory, but his voice was low. Tired and only trying to understand.

"What are you talking about?"

"If you're working for him…" Nick paused, unsure of whether to finish with a threat. "If you're with him, now is your chance to leave. Take the kid and go. Our group won't follow you." Amelia raised an eyebrow, confused. "I'm just saying, if you are, things will get a lot worse if you're with us when we find out."

Amelia didn't feel like giving any answers until she got at least one. "Why would he be sending people after you?"

"You didn't answer-"

"The answer is no. We're not with anyone." Amelia said bluntly. "Why is he chasing you?" She looked out at the bodies scattered across the riverbank. "Is this what he's going to do to you when he finds you?"

Nick hesitated. "You don't need to know that."

"The hell I don't." she said pointedly. "Come on."

Nick didn't answer. He looked away, maybe irritated, maybe guilty.

Amelia sighed, trying to stay patient. But patience demanded time, something her sense of unease told her they didn't have. "Look, Pete wouldn't tell me anything about him, so do me a favor?"

"I don't need to do you any favors." Nick scoffed, turning to walk in the other direction, toward the bodies they hadn't checked yet. When his back was turned, he muttered, "Not that you'd notice."

"What?" Amelia couldn't make out what he'd said, and started to follow after him. She looked over her shoulder, keeping an eye on Pete and Clementine to make sure she and Nick didn't stray too far from them.

"It's not your problem." Nick said dismissively over his shoulder. "If you're not coming with us, you don't need to know."

Amelia didn't answer. She and Clementine had to leave. They needed to stay far away from this. But she'd have been lying to herself if she said she didn't like the safety of numbers. She couldn't truthfully say she didn't miss having people to talk to. Life was easier with friends.

"Are you…coming with us?" Nick asked.

She got the sense the question wasn't rhetorical. She tried to think of an answer, but-

Pete screamed from across the river, and the sound struck Amelia cold with fear.

She whirled and, frantically searching the riverbank for Clementine, watched Pete fire into a walker on the ground. A moment ago it'd had its hands on Pete's foot and its teeth in his ankle.

For a few seconds, Amelia froze, unsure of what she was seeing. But the bite was there, clear as day.

"Uncle Pete!" Nick called across the water.

"I'm fine!" Pete shouted back too quickly, before Nick had finished. "I'm fine, I just…I just lost my footing…"

What happened next was a sequence of events that went by like a blur. If asked, Amelia wouldn't have been able to retell it with any accuracy. It all happened at once.

Amelia had barely opened her mouth to call out, "Clemen-" when Nick shouted over her.

"Shit! Lurkers!" He began firing blindly at a group of walkers that had come out of the trees, missing, wasting ammunition.

Amelia drew her axe and spotted Clementine on the rock in the center of the river, looking back and forth between them and Pete.

No.

Backing up alongside Nick, Amelia knew what her sister was thinking. Clementine had seen that Pete was bitten. That wouldn't do much to change her decision.

"I'm outta ammo!" Pete yelled from the other side of the river, aiming his rifle at one, two that had come out of the forest.

Nick fired again, and again, drowning out his own words with his gunfire. "Come this way!"

Amelia shouted and knew she still wouldn't be heard. "Clementine, over here-"

"Dammit, you get your asses over here! _All of you!_ "

"I'll cover you!" shouted Nick, firing more rounds into the walkers in front of him – Amelia guessed there were six or seven – and only killing two. Soon he would run out. He should've held his fire and let her put some of them down-

"We've got to get out of here!" Nick yelled.

"Get over here, goddamn it!"

"Clementine!" Amelia called in desperation, already knowing she wasn't going to listen. Clementine only looked back to Pete, panicked and unsure of what to do.

 _Pete has fewer walkers to kill but he has no weapon there could be more in the trees Nick is surrounded and wasting ammo Pete's been bitten Clementine isn't coming_

"Come on!" Pete shouted for them. "I see a way out!"

They were getting closer. Slowly, slowly, coming to kill them all. Amelia put the axe blade into the head of the closest one, then another.

"Can you listen to me?! Just this once?!"

"Clementine, come this way, _please!_ " _You can't help him._ Soon she and Nick would be surrounded, and no one would be able to help them, either.

Amelia felt a hand close around her arm just above the elbow. She panicked, thinking it was a walker that had gotten behind her but found it was Nick, pulling her into the forest.

She yanked her arm out of his grip. Not without her sister. Not again.

"Clementine!" she turned back to see the walkers closing in and blocking her view of the river. Between their decaying bodies she saw Clementine run back to Pete, hurriedly helping him up. The two ran into the forest. In the opposite direction, getting farther away by the second.

"Come on!" Nick said, grabbing her again and pushing her toward the trees. He turned back briefly to fire three more helpless rounds into the horde, then followed behind her.

 _No no no no no no no no not again…_

Somewhere behind her, Nick screamed. Amelia came to a skidding stop and doubled back. Nick was on the ground; a walker had fallen on him and he was keeping it away from his neck by holding it at the wrists. Amelia took a running start and kicked it in the chin, snapping its neck and shattering its jaw. It didn't die, but it fell limp. Nick pushed it away, picked up his gun, and scrambled to his feet.

The two ran, outrunning the mob behind them but running into more coming out of the trees ahead of them. The walkers were coming from all directions, and there were far too many to fight.

"We need to hide." Amelia said, her breath ragged and painful.

Nick had barely enough in him to say, "I know where to go." He made a sharp turn and took off deeper into the woods. With no other options, Amelia followed him.

She wondered if there were as many walkers in the woods Clementine and Pete had run into. She hoped that there were none, and that all the walkers in the forest were behind her and Nick.

When they came up to the shack, Amelia recognized it. She'd passed it in her search for Clementine the night before. She'd known it was here, but was too panicked to think of it. But Nick knew. He even knew how to get them there.

Amelia tried not to think about it. She didn't need any reminders that having a group would keep her alive.

Nick threw the doors open. She expected him to run inside, but he pressed his back against the door to hold it open and fired on the walkers again, apparently waiting for her.

"Come on!"

She ran inside and looked for something to block the door with. She got behind a large, empty wooden shelf by the door and braced herself against it. Nick kicked the door shut and immediately began helping her push until it crashed down onto its side.

The walkers scratched at the door, moaning, growling, rotting. The overturned shelf prevented them from pushing the inward-swinging doors open more than a crack. It rattled and shook, banging against the shelf, but it wouldn't let anything in. They were safe.

Amelia dropped to her knees and cried.


	8. Whiskey

6:47 am

It was happening again. It was happening _again._ Amelia had just escaped this nightmare, only for it to catch up to her the next day.

 _How long did it take you to lose her again? Twelve hours?_

Amelia gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to scream with walkers just outside the door.

Nick muttered behind her, "Fuck…" He looked from the door, watching it rattle as walkers tried to push their way in, to the high windows near the ceiling. Walkers were lumbering out of the woods as far as they could see, wandering around the tree line, surrounding the shed. "There…there are so many."

The tears had stopped, but Amelia remained on her knees, braced against the overturned shelf. She stood and went to a window, stepping up on a crate to see. He was right.

Nick cursed again, but this time Amelia didn't hear any panic in his voice. "I've never seen this many."

She had. For a moment, she was back in Savannah. Seeing them everywhere she looked, losing her grip on Clementine's hand, minutes away from losing consciousness to the fever and dropping dead in a sea of corpses…

She was interrupted by Nick, who spoke calmly and quietly.

"We're never getting out of here." He sat down on a stack of crates and put his head in his hands. He let out a long, exhausted sigh. Quietly, to the floor, he said, "I guess that's how it goes, then."

Amelia ignored him. Clementine was a smart girl. And she was with Pete. The chances that they made it back to the cabin alive had to be good.

She remembered that Clementine was unarmed, Pete was wounded, and he had run out of ammunition.

 _No._ Amelia thought. She'd seen Clementine do plenty of damage with much less than an empty gun. _They're fine._

Or, Clementine would be fine. Pete only had about a day left.

 _He could turn near Clementine._

 _Doesn't matter. They're probably both dead already._

She turned to Nick. "How many bullets do you have left?"

"They're called cartridges." Nick said, then shook his head. "Not that it matters anymore."

"How many?" Amelia could hear her patience thinning.

Nick reached into his pockets, counting quietly. "Two, three…five here. Probably one or two in the gun." Amelia held out her hand and he dropped them into her palm. "Don't know what you plan on doing with them, though. They're fuckin' useless now. Want to get a few shots off before they eat you?"

She shot him a glare and found, to her surprise, he wasn't joking.

Every shot counted. Amelia knew that down the line, she would be glad she kept them.

"Let's look around for something useful."

"Knock yourself out."

Amelia spotted a still in a far corner, and crossed the shed to crouch in front of it. She hadn't seen one since she was a little girl. It was one of the many things about her childhood in the backwoods countryside she'd tried to leave behind when she went away to college in the city. It seemed ridiculous now, her attempt to reinvent herself as a city girl. If she could've done it over, she wouldn't have cared either way. She would've spent more time with her parents, and less trying to outgrow the neighborhood they'd made their home.

"It's a still." Nick told her.

"I know what it is."

"The fuck you do." Amelia took off its metal lid and peered inside. Nick took this to mean she didn't know what she was looking at. "It's for making booze. But that rig ain't fit to piss in."

"Stay close. I might need you to tell me what a tractor does."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't."

She looked up to the shelf above the still, lined with sealed jars of amber liquid. She took one and turned it over in her hands.

"What is that stuff?" Nick asked. "Let me see."

Amelia almost told him to get it himself. Then she thought of Pete and brought him the jar.

Nick didn't hesitate to break the airtight seal on the lid, twisting it off and smelling what was inside. To Amelia's surprise and mild disgust, he drank it. His entire body cringed and he brought down a fist onto the crate at his side. "Whiskey." After a few wordless seconds, he drank again and Amelia turned away, looking up to the ceiling and knowing, despite Nick's presence, she was alone with her thoughts again.

She wondered if it was as painful for other people. She listened to Nick take another swig and shudder after, and decided, yes, it was.

They were everywhere. _Everywhere._ They surrounded the shed on every side, and she knew what it meant. She took a deep, shuddering breath, still recovering from her crying fit, and looked to the shed doors. They shook and crashed loudly against the shelf, the walkers outside still trying to claw their way in.

The idea was looming over the horizon and she was a passenger on her own train of thought, barreling towards it; she could see it in the distance, she could even watch it approach if she wanted. But she couldn't stop herself from having a head-on collision with it.

She knew what had to be done, and she'd hoped to live the rest of her life without ever doing it again.

"We…" She hesitated, unsure he was even listening. He was disturbingly still, staring into the jar of whiskey without moving a muscle. "We need to get one of them in here."

He only answered her after a long silence, in a voice barely loud enough for her to hear. "What are you talking about?"

"We just…" Amelia put a hand to her face and shook her head, aware that she sounded certifiable and trying, trying with everything she had not to think about Clementine. "Just one. We'll pull it in through the door when we get a chance and-"

Finally, Nick looked up and made eye contact with her, his face as unfriendly as his tone. "Is this a fucking joke to you? Seriously, what are you saying right now?"

Amelia explained slowly, coming up with each word only after she said the one before it, trying to choose the right ones. Though she knew immediately after she spoke that there was nothing right about what she'd said. "If you cover yourself in their…in their guts, they can't tell you apart from one of them."

Nick stared at her like she'd spit in his face. He shook his head at her. Tried to find words – unpleasant ones, she assumed – but gave up. Amelia cleared her throat, wringing her hands and looking around the shed – up at the windows, at the door, everywhere but at Nick. One of her knuckles popped loudly under the pressure she was putting on her own fingers.

 _It's going to be fine. Say it again. It's going to be fine._

"I've done it. Clem and I got caught in a horde trying to leave the city." Amelia heard her own voice shaking and tried to will it to stop. _Get it together. Get it the fuck together._ Not that it ever worked. "If-if you walk slowly and don't make any noise, you can pass right through them." Still, nothing.

"They were right." Nick nodded to himself. He rolled the jar between his palms, his elbows propped on his knees.

Amelia waited for him to explain. He didn't. "About what?"

"You're fucking insane."

"I don't want to do this either," she could hear how defensive she was, and knew it was because the idea was as dangerous as it sounded, if not more. But here she was, insisting that he do it, and for what? Because she told him to? "Do I look like I want to do this?"

Nick tipped back his whiskey and killed the jar. He cringed hard and threw it aside, hard enough to break it when it hit the floor.

"Even if that wasn't crazy…" She started to speak and he didn't give her the chance, which she couldn't entirely blame him for.

"It-"

" _And let's be clear, it's total horseshit…_ we'd never make it. It's at least half a mile back to the cabin and for all we know the entire forest is overrun. You think we can just walk through this, all the way back?"

"I know you don't have any reason to believe it works, but I promise-"

"-oh, you promise, huh?"

"-it'll get us back."

"Would you bet your life on that?"

No. The first and only time she'd ever done had been a nightmare. It was like walking a tightrope, half a misstep away from a screaming death. Even then, they didn't _all_ leave her alone; she'd gotten the attention of a few walkers here and there. Making themselves reek like corpses would only take them so far. Who was to say they wouldn't get eaten ten feet from the door?

She didn't want to tell him this, and she couldn't bring herself to lie about it. Not now. All this idea had going for it was that it was something. Something had to be better than nothing.

Right?

Amelia saw the way Nick was looking at her, and asked herself if she was asking him to leave the safety of the shed and walk to his death. He clearly thought so.

She saw him getting angrier, and knew it was because she was pushing him. She regretted it, and wished it wasn't necessary while knowing she'd always believed regret and wishful thinking to be useless things.

But she needed him to listen. Beneath a cacophony of harsh truths – that she had no idea where Clementine was, that she would need to walk through the horde to get back to her, that it was _very_ likely she would die horribly if she even attempted it – was another thought that sat quietly amongst them, and Amelia was well aware of its presence.

She couldn't do this alone.

"Nick, please-"

Nick raised his voice at her. " _It's not going to happen_."

Amelia could only take being yelled at for so long. She felt her temper flare up sharply, and turned to an automatic response, doing the same in return. " _You could at least hear me out!_ _Why are you giving up already_?"

She expected him to yell back. But he broke eye contact and moved his gaze to the floor.

"Because my uncle's dead."

The shed was silent, save for the walkers moaning outside.

"He got bit. Back at the stream. Don't act like you didn't see it. He's going to die soon if he hasn't already." Amelia didn't know what to say. She tried to be indifferent to pain. She tried. Her problem was that it almost never worked.

She didn't like Nick. But she'd felt what he was feeling more than once. She wouldn't have wished it on anyone. "Just like that. He's just…gone." Nick shook his head and his voice cracked as he asked, "Can you believe that?"

Amelia wanted to do something to help. But she wasn't good at it, even with her own sister. She vaguely remembered a time when she had been, but it was long gone. The end of the world took nearly everyone she loved, and with it everyone she used to be comfortable talking to.

Nick had his head in his hands. He might have been sobbing quietly. Amelia couldn't tell. She approached him carefully and waited until he looked up. She took the lid off of her own jar of whiskey and held it out.

"To Pete." She phrased it like a question.

She wasn't sure what he would do. At first he stared at her like she'd made a poorly-timed joke. His eyes were bloodshot, making the blue of his irises stand out.

 _Is this how I looked at Luke when he tried to help me?_

Before Amelia could answer herself, he picked up his jar and tapped it to hers in a lazy salute.

"To Peter Joseph Randall." he said bitterly. "The nicest mean old bastard I ever met."

Amelia hesitated, but took a small sip that burned all the way down. Putting it mildly, it was disgusting.

Nick tipped his jar back and drank half of it. When he finished, he coughed, shuddered violently, and dropped the rest on the floor. The jar shattered and whiskey seeped out in a growing puddle that spread underneath his shoes.

"Shit, that's…" Nick pressed his hands into his face. "That's…"

"Awful."

"Yeah. Get me another." Nick added, when Amelia didn't move, "Please."

"We can't do this right now." Amelia said. They needed to stay sharp if they wanted to have any chance of getting out. She wasn't about to throw her mental faculties out the window.

"Then don't do it." Nick already sounded a little slow, a little dull. He stood up on uncoordinated legs and tried to make his way toward the liquor shelf. Amelia stood in his way.

"We can get out of here. I mean it." His eyes were glazed over. Half-shut and not registering anything he was hearing. "We'll make it." She gestured over her shoulder to the shelf behind her. "But not if you do this."

Nick looked like he was considering this. Either that or he was trying to understand what she'd said.

"Are you going to move?"

* * *

10:08 am

Nick was wasted.

Amelia was angry.

The fact that one of them was having a good time did nothing to make her feel any better.

Amelia had been waiting. Watching the windows, the crack beneath the door, for a break. A brief silence, a stillness, anything to suggest there were few enough walkers outside for her to survive opening the doors. But there hadn't been for hours, not a single one. Only shuffling feet and incoherent noise. She was pretty sure the morning was almost over.

While she'd been trying to keep track of the hours that passed, Nick probably didn't know what day it was. He'd had so much to drink he could've been mid-blackout. Amelia didn't know why she felt disappointed; she'd already known he was a selfish prick.

"Hey." Nick said from behind her.

She ignored him. She had been for the last thirty minutes. But the alcohol made him persistent.

"Hey. _Hello?_ " He laughed, apparently finding something about their situation funny.

Amelia felt her eye twitch.

Nick didn't stop. "Come on, are you going to stay quiet forever?"

Amelia kept her back to him. "Shut. Up."

These were her first words to him in hours. He reacted differently to them than she'd hoped.

"I would, but I'm about to die. So I don't have to listen to you." He slurred. A realization dawned on him. "I don't have to listen to anyone anymore. It's nice." He drank, finishing another jar.

"You're pathetic."

Nick had situated himself against the wall, next to the shelf for easy access. He sat in a bird's nest of garbage and half-empty mason jars. He clumsily reached above his head for another and struggled for a moment to twist the lid off. "You think?" He asked, amused as he went in for another sip. When he put the jar down, his expression had dropped. No more smile. Now he was grim, and defensive. "Why are you always so mad at me?"

Amelia didn't answer. Come to think of it, she was frequently mad at Luke as well. Sometimes Clementine. Almost always at herself.

She was angry at everyone, which meant two things: she had issues to work through...and Nick wasn't anything special.

"Come on. I want to know."

"You could've helped me." Amelia said.

"What?" Nick leaned forward, frustrated.

" _You could've helped me._ We could be getting out of here but you decided to get shitfaced." Amelia kept her back to him.

Silence.

"Giving up is nice. It's easy. I just want something to be easy for once."

"Then you deserve what you get."

Nick was quiet; he sounded like he was talking more to himself than to her. "I think I'm alright with that."

* * *

12:23 pm

Amelia laid flat on the plywood floor, passing the lighter she'd taken from the man at the river back and forth between her hands. She'd taken to counting the rotting holes in the ceiling, starting over every time she reached one hundred. There was nothing to do other than wait for a window of opportunity that probably wouldn't happen until it was too late. Clementine could've been anywhere by now. Pete must have been halfway to turning. Nick's group had probably left the area already. She only hoped they at least took Clementine with them.

"That's not fair."

This from Nick, who was still wasted and hadn't spoken in hours.

Amelia didn't ask. She didn't want to know.

That didn't stop him. "I don't…I don't give up all the time. I only do that when I'm already fucked."

"Like now?" Amelia asked dryly.

"Like now. Now you're getting it. When your situation's bad enough, there's nothing you can do. That's when you give up." Nick folded his arms behind his head and sank down against the wall.

"Just leave me alone." She didn't need any lectures about giving up, and hearing it from him made her want to throw something at him. She wouldn't admit to herself, and certainly not to him, that it was because thinking about it made her feel more guilt than she could handle.

Nick either didn't hear her or didn't care. "Know when your time's up. Luke doesn't know when his time's up. He just…he pushes too much. He doesn't know when to quit." He kept talking, but it didn't matter what he said. Amelia heard her own words in her own voice.

 _Remember how relieved you were when you thought you were dying?_

 _Shut up shut up shut up shut up please just stop talking_

"He always used to push me. I never wanted to go into business with him. I remember when he sold me on it. His big plan. Some fuckin' plan."

 _Some fuckin' sister. You were thrilled when you thought your time was up. Clementine was devastated, and going out into the world on her own, and you were relieved to be checking out early._

Amelia tuned him out. She realized she couldn't stop his train of thought and decided her energy was better spent trying to stop her own.

"A case of beer and he just said, 'Nick, we're burnin' daylight.' And that was that. After six months, we were flat broke. I didn't care. We were having fun."

Staring at the ceiling, Amelia applauded his story with a slow-clap. She did it loudly enough to drown out her own thoughts, and if it spited Nick, then that was an added bonus.

Nick scowled at her. "Whatever."

* * *

2:39 pm

Amelia had been considering making a run for it. No matter how she worked it out in her head, it was a stupid idea. There wasn't a way to do it that wouldn't get her killed. The idea was always followed closely by another: she could open the doors and try to grab a walker on her own. The thought provoked images of her lifting the shelf and immediately getting overwhelmed by the half-dozen walkers that poured through the door. They would pile on top of her and rip her to pieces while Nick slept off his morning bender.

Yeah, that's probably how it would go.

It wasn't doing much to stop her.

 _Is that because you think you'll make it or because you think you won't?_

She ignored herself, knowing in the back of her mind, that was getting harder and harder to do.

She was just being impatient. All she needed to do was wait. Walkers moved as a horde. Eventually they would clear out.

"Amelia."

She was so surprised by this, she sat up. It was the first time Nick had ever used her name, and it got her attention.

Nick placed a sealed jar on the floor and slid it over to her. It only made it about halfway across the shed, but she could've reached it if she tried.

"Have a drink with me. And not that…girl-sip you took last time. That was embarrassing." He seemed to have sobered up. Not completely. His eyes were still inattentive and he occasionally slurred his "s" sounds. But he was less affected than he had been that morning. He cleared his throat. "Come on. Bury the hatchet."

Amelia lowered herself onto her back and rolled onto her side, turning away from him.

Nick sounded frustrated. "Seriously?" He mumbled to himself, and Amelia wasn't sure if she was meant to hear it when he said, "I hate it when you do that. Just don't say anything. Don't have a damn idea what you're thinking."

Amelia ignored him. She didn't force conversation when she had nothing to say.

"You're really not going to take it?"

Five seconds of silence.

"Fine." Nick said, opening his jar to drink on his own. "Whatever. Don't know why I expected you to drink whiskey. Probably couldn't handle it."

 _Please._ He knew she was fresh out of her college years. And Amelia knew bait when she heard it.

"You probably couldn't do the hard stuff unless it's fruity and girly. Back before all this you probably drank, what? Wine coolers?" Nick laughed. It was loud and genuine. "Wait, wait…appletinis?" He laughed even harder.

Amelia remained silent, furious because he was right on both counts.

* * *

4:58 pm

 _89…90…91…92…_

"Hey." Nick said.

 _93…94…95…_

"Amelia."

 _Fuck off. I'm about to hit 100._

"Amelia, come on. We're not going anywhere. You might as well talk to me."

 _Shit._ Amelia lost track, and no longer knew if she'd already counted the hole she was on. She hoped if she ignored him enough, Nick would give up trying to start a conversation. She wanted to go back to counting; it kept her from thinking too much.

1…2…3…4…5…

"I can do your side of the conversation if you want." Nick said. "Amelia, where are you from?" He pitched his voice in a horrendous impression of her that he probably wouldn't have found nearly as funny if he were sober. " _Oh, I'm from the city. I went to a university and I-"_

"Stop." Amelia turned over to face him. The sound of his voice was starting to give her a headache. An intense pounding behind her stitches, fixated just above her left eyebrow. "I'll talk to you if you just…stop."

"Deal."

There was a stiff silence when neither of them knew where to start.

"I'm not from the city. Clementine and I lived in the countryside. Then we moved to the suburbs. Georgia."

"I already told you we tried to start a business. What did you do before?"

"I was in school."

"Don't suppose you had a job? Probably not."

"I did." Amelia couldn't help feeling irritated. She knew where this was going.

"It was probably something easy-"

"-I'm done talking to you now-"

"-that you get just for being cute. You…host in a restaurant?"

Amelia turned away. _Not listening._

1…2…3…4…5…6…

"Waitress?" Nick guessed. "Wait, what's it called when you make coffee?"

Amelia sighed. "Barista."

Nick's laughter filled the entire room. It made her jealous, and angry. Why did he get to feel happy?

"Does thinking you have me figured out make you feel any better?" she snapped.

Nick wiped a tear from his eyes as he tried to calm down from his laughing fit. "Nope." He said lightly, almost with a shrug. "Not at all."

He still smiled, and chuckled to himself every few minutes for the next hour.

* * *

6:09 pm

Nick broke the silence again. "Hey, will you tell me if I guess what you studied in-"

" _Enough."_ Amelia surprised even herself with the volume of her voice. "I get it. You think I was spoiled and privileged and knew nothing about hard work and didn't deserve anything I had, _and all of it is true._ And it doesn't fucking matter anymore because that world and everyone in it is gone. _Just_ _leave me alone_."

* * *

6:12 pm

"You sure you don't want that drink? You could use one."

* * *

8:39 pm

The sun was starting to go down. The collective mass of the walkers' legs blocked their view from the window; soon, they would sit in the dark, without even faint moonlight to let them see what was in front of them.

In the dimming light, Amelia flicked the lighter. It took three tries to get a flame, which she held until the heat began to burn her thumb. Then she let it die.

It had been at least twelve hours and the walkers were still there, like they knew she was still alive and wouldn't leave until she was one of them. Making a break for it was starting to look more and more appealing. She might make it. Stranger things had happened. She found her own thoughts bitter and sarcastic. _What are they going to do? Bite me?_

Yes, they would. Many times. They would tear her apart and leave just enough of her to get back up and spend her second life wandering aimlessly, killing and eating anything that moved.

Or would she? If a bite couldn't turn her, who was to say she would reanimate after death by another cause?

Her thoughts began wander absently to dark places. She wondered what it was like to die like that, to be infected with a virus that reanimated her body long after she was no longer in it. Every one of the walkers outside had once been a person. She wondered if any part of them was still there, trapped inside their own bodies, slaves to impulses they couldn't control. If that were true, it was possible they wanted to be put down.

She would, if it were her. If she really was able to die and stay dead, without Clementine having to shoot her through the brain, she'd consider that a blessing.

"Do you think you have me figured out?" Nick asked her.

Yes. "I have better things to do."

"Not right now you don't." Nick stirred in the bed he'd made out of empty trash bags. His back was turned to her and he spoke to the wall. "What's so bad about thinking I know a little about you?"

"You don't."

"I know what's easy to guess."

"No, you don't. You don't know me at all."

"Sure." Nick seemed to let the matter drop. This got Amelia's hopes up, until he spoke again. "I know that if we ran into each other before all this, you never would have talked to me."

Amelia thought it over. She thought of Nick, and his bad posture and perpetual scowl, and imagined seeing him in a bar somewhere. He exuded low self-esteem and a lack of patience.

"Probably not."

She reminded herself that she had her own self-esteem problems. They just didn't show as easily. She was impatient, and always had been, and she'd never been one to smile often. Given her privileged background and the kind of friends she spent her time with, someone like Nick probably wouldn't have bothered to start a conversation with her.

"Don't worry. You wouldn't have thought much of me either."

Nick was quiet for a minute. Then, "I didn't mean it like that."

Amelia recognized the olive branch and felt like swatting it away. "Are you just bitter then?" she asked cynically. "Do I remind you of a brunette who broke your heart?"

Nick let out a loud, sardonic laugh. "You don't know what you're talking about. She was a blonde and you don't look anything like her."

Amelia laid down, and decided to sleep.

* * *

4:34 am

Amelia dreamt of a beach. It was a familiar beach, one she'd thought of and visited in her sleep more often than she could count, at least in the past few years. She started in the same place she did every time: in the water. She opened her eyes as she broke the surface, surrounded by skies as clear and blue as the ocean she was in. She was out so deep she couldn't touch sand, and had to tread water to keep her head above the surface.

There were people on the shore, a lot of them. That was all she could say for certain. But she was too far away, and the sun in her eyes and the waves hitting her face made it impossible to see them clearly. She could make out colors and shapes, but other than that, a prodding sense of familiarity was all she had.

She thought she could see a white blouse. A lovely couple whose names she couldn't recall. The people waved to her, gestured for her to swim to the beach, as they did every time. And every time she thought of a vague memory, of a day a friend told her that he believed people never truly leave, that they wait to be reunited with everyone they loved and the people they shared the most important moments of their lives with-

The sound of shattering glass brought her back to the shed, in darkness and silence, laying on a rotten hardwood floor. She panicked, sitting up and looking around, expecting to see walkers breaking in through the windows. If that was happening, it would be the last thing she'd ever see. But there was nothing. For a moment, she thought she'd imagined what she'd heard.

It happened again and she turned to Nick, who was sitting up against one wall and throwing whiskey jars at the other. The pile of broken glass and puddle of liquid said he'd been at it for a while.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed. "You'll draw them in here!"

Nick threw another jar, forcing Amelia to stumble to her feet. If he wouldn't stop, she would make him.

"Nick!" she said. "Stop it!"

He arched his arm to throw another, stopped, and set it down. He didn't look at Amelia or acknowledge that she was there.

She didn't know what to say to him. In the time she'd been asleep he could've sobered up, given himself a chance to escape this shed alive. Instead he was drunk out of his mind, again. He screwed himself, and probably her as as well.

He cradled the jar in his hands, staring at it absently. There was something different about him. He seemed quieter, emptier.

It took her a moment to realize he was deeply, genuinely sad.

They spoke at the same time.

"Are-"

"I had to kill my mom."

Amelia was silent, this time because she didn't have any words. She sat down slowly, crossing her legs and facing him. She waited, unsure if he was going to speak again.

"It sounds weird when I say it out loud, huh?" Nick let the jar roll out of his hands, dropping it to the floor with a thud. "There was this girl. She came knocking on our door one night, just like you did. Hurt, scared. Hysterical. She was bit. She begged us to help her, take her in so those things wouldn't eat her alive. I didn't want to. Most of the group didn't want to. Luke did, of course. And my mom. They convinced everyone to go along with it. I never should have let them.

"We thought...we actually thought we could control it if we were careful. God, it was so fucking stupid. _What the hell were we thinking?_ " Nick took a second to calm himself. After taking a slow breath, he went on. "She turned when we didn't expect it, and my mom was standing right there, and…" Another breath. "…and that's how it happened."

When Amelia didn't know what to say, she tended to go with something easy, and true.

"You didn't kill your mom. Something else did that."

"Doesn't make it any better." He said, his eyes empty.

"Yeah…" she agreed.

"It was my fault."

"You already know it wasn't."

"You sound like Luke." Nick sounded irritated. Whether it was at her or at Luke, she couldn't tell. Probably both of them. "I wish I was like him. I wish I could just keep moving all the time. I'm just not…built like that."

He didn't have to be, Amelia thought. She wasn't. Remembering the past served a purpose. She never forgot what she'd learned from it. It kept her alive.

"Everyone I grew up with. It all happened to them. Now, it's going to happen to us. We're fucked. This whole world is fucked. I mean, what's the point? We'll just march to some new place and somebody else will die. It's never going to stop. Eventually, it'll be our turn."

"I'm disappointed." she said.

"What?" Nick turned his head up just enough to glare at her.

"I'm disappointed. But not surprised." She said.

"Have you seen this place?" he snapped. "Even you have to know how fucked we are."

"You gave up the minute we got here. It doesn't matter where we are. If you really want to live, you'll find a way. If not, you'll let something kill you and say you did your best when you know you didn't."

 _You'll handcuff yourself to a radiator and send a nine-year-old out the back door of an empty jewelry store, armed with a gun that's almost too heavy for her to lift. You'll close your eyes and hope she makes it through the walkers and psychopaths until she meets someone with enough humanity left in them not to kill her._

" _What do you want from me?_ The only two people who ever gave a shit about me are gone. They're dead. What do I have to go back to?"

"And what about Luke?" _Look the other way, let it happen, and hope he'll be fine on his own, right?_ "He's your friend. Does that mean anything?"

Nick opened his mouth to argue with her, and couldn't find anything to say.

Amelia saw the pain in Nick's eyes, and put her head in her hands. She knew she was being unfair. Maybe she deserved her own harsh words; that didn't mean he did.

"I get it." She tried to make eye contact but he wouldn't look at her. He looked toward the door, his thoughts somewhere else. If her own experience was any indication, he was reliving the worst moments of his life; the ones that brought him here, drunk, sitting in garbage on a shed floor, and waiting to die. As if running through those moments over and over would let him change any of it. If he'd asked, she could've told him it would only make him feel worse.

Of course, he probably knew that by now.

She paused and waited for him to look at her. He didn't. "I'm not going to tell you you're wrong, because you're not."

That got his attention. He didn't speak, but he watched her carefully, looking almost as if he didn't trust her. Maybe he thought she was only telling him what he wanted to hear.

"You're not alone, Nick. People care about you. That's a good enough reason to try."

"Luke will move on. He's good at that."

She shook her head. "He won't.

"You don't know him."

"Neither do you, if you think he would just get over-"

Nick raised his voice, but not by much. "I said, you don't know him. I've known him my entire life. I've seen things happen to him. He brushes them off like they're nothing."

"You're not nothing."

The look on his face said he thought otherwise.

Amelia took a breath and sat upright, running her hands over her knees and trying to think. Nick was walking a line, and she knew that she could easily push him in the wrong direction if she wasn't careful with her words.

"Last night, Carlos…made it very clear that he wouldn't let me pose any threat to the people in your house. So did Rebecca. No one gets protective like that over people who aren't important to them."

"It doesn't matter how important we are. We die. And when it happens, the rest of us pick up and leave. They go somewhere they know isn't any better than where they came from and wait for it to happen to someone else. We've all done it before. And it's what they're going to do when we don't come back."

Amelia's thoughts came back to her before she could stop them. _Unless they're you. You don't know how to do that, do you? Not without letting the dead follow you._

She closed her eyes and shook her head. They weren't talking about her. She impatiently tapped her fingers on the wood floor, waiting to be left alone by that spiteful part of herself.

"You're mad at me. Of course you are." Nick ran a hand over his eyes, completely out of energy to put into arguing with her. "What did I do this time?"

He'd misunderstood what was upsetting her. But now that she thought about it, maybe she had a reason to be angry with him.

"You still have people around to miss you and you don't seem to care. At least you still have your friends, Nick. Mine are gone. If they were still around I wouldn't think about leaving them."

"Mine are going to be gone soon, too. I just went first." Nick didn't raise his voice, or match the harshness of her tone. She'd expected him to, having seen him do it more than a few times. But anger was for people who still had something worth being angry about. Nick didn't seem to think he had anything left. "If this is what life is, now, then fuck it. It doesn't mean anything anymore."

That's what this was about? Finding meaning in life despite the fact that death would eventually come for him, for all of them?

"It never did."

Nick looked at her, confused but no less hopeless. "What?"

"Living never meant anything in the first place. Not without people in your life to give it meaning." She realized what she was admitting, that she was going back on everything she'd insisted was true, to herself and to her sister. "We need other people. We're not meant to live our entire lives alone." She regretted taking this long to do it, and hoped she would get a chance to admit it to Clementine after telling her she was wrong all these years.

Clementine was right. Pete was right. Chuck was right. Everyone who'd told her to cut the shit and find a group to live with had been right. She'd been the one who was wrong. She'd been lying to herself while everyone around her implored her to be honest. Human beings needed other human beings. Amelia was no exception, as hard as she tried to make herself one.

"That's what life without meaning looks like."

They were both silent for a long time. They listened to the faint growls and choking sounds just outside the door. Somewhere behind it, Amelia could hear crickets chirping.

She wasn't expecting it when Nick finally spoke to her. "Do you really think we can get out of here? Don't lie to me."

She nodded, shocked that he actually sounded like he was considering it. "I know how crazy it sounds…"

Nick didn't look like he believed her. "I'm going either way. I just want to know if you think we'll actually make it."

Amelia was glad that for once, she could answer honestly. "I don't know. But I wouldn't do it if I didn't know it was possible."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you to BHBrowne for helping revise this chapter. If you haven't read any of BHBrowne's Walking Dead stories, I highly recommend them.**


	9. Last Call

The sun was almost up. Delicate streaks of pink, purple, and blue intertwined themselves in the sky. They mimicked the way watercolor paint bled out in swirls across a canvas; she could see them, far in the distance behind the mob of walking human corpses.

A gorgeous sunrise had always been one of her favorite things. She wasn't under circumstances to appreciate it, given that she was looking at it though an inch of open space between the shed doors.

It was quite a contrast, she noted. If she looked up, she saw color and beauty, a naturally-occurring reminder that not every nice thing could be killed and eaten by the dead. A quick glance down – where she was, where she would always be – and there was nothing but death and rot. Dead families. Haunting regrets. Walkers with blood in their teeth and human beings with just as much blood on their hands.

"So?" Nick asked, his voice strained. He was hunched slightly, supporting the overturned shelf with his back to hold it out of her way while she peered through the door. He was prepared to drop it if they needed to block the doors again on short notice. Looking out at the clearing, Amelia hard him grunt quietly under its weight, and she realized how easily he could drop it on her at any second. Something told her he wouldn't.

Not on purpose, at least. She could smell the alcohol on his breath from where she stood. There was still plenty of it in his system, but she couldn't help him there. She hoped he was collected enough to make the half-mile back to the cabin.

"I'm just looking…" she muttered, knowing he was asking because he was getting restless. The stunt they were about to attempt – the one she'd convinced him wouldn't get them both killed – had been unnerving to talk about. Actually _doing it_ was disturbing on another level. What they were about to do went against everything they'd ever been taught to do in order to stay alive. _Stay away from the dead. Don't get their attention on purpose. Don't let them into enclosed spaces with you._

She understood why he was fidgeting so much under the shelf, and wanted to tell him something that would calm him down. But she couldn't think of a way to do that without lying to him.

The walkers passed the shed in an uncoordinated shuffle, limping, dragging, bumping into each other. The horde's numbers had thinned out overnight, but there must have been dozens of them left. None of them were close enough for her to reach from inside the shed. She would need to get one to come to her.

Nick shifted again, knocking the shelf gently against the door. Amelia stood upright – she'd had her face pressed up against the door for so long she could feel an indent of its edge across her forehead – and pulled the door open another inch, trying to get a better look.

"Hey. _Hey._ " Nick snapped when she didn't answer him, sharply enough that she stopped and looked at him. "Don't…don't do anything without telling me. You're not opening them yet, are you?"

Amelia wasn't used to sharing her thoughts as they occurred to her. She also wasn't one to share a plan she'd come up with before it was finished; what good was an idea they couldn't use yet? But it was clear from the look on Nick's face and the poorly-disguised fear in his eyes that she was keeping him in the dark, and it was making this worse on him than it had to be.

"I'm not doing anything yet. There are two just over there. I need to see them." She waited for him to nod, which he took a few seconds to do, before cracking the door another inch. She wondered if it was his sleepless night of drinking that had him looking so pale, and at the same time knew it wasn't. "I think we can get one of them in here before the others get to us."

"Okay…okay…shit…" he said quietly under his breath, sounding like he was no longer talking to her. She put her hands against the shelf and pushed. He followed suit, leaning back into it until they forced it into place. He crossed his arms and turned away from her. She waited, a cautious voice reminding her that this had to be handled carefully. There was no better way to shoot their chances of survival than by doing this before one of them was ready.

For a moment, she thought he was going to start pacing again, something he'd spent most of the morning doing. When he turned back he was biting his thumbnail, eyes fixated on the floor and a look on his face that said he was imagining the worst.

She decided to let him. He could only picture his worst fears so many times before they lost their power to cripple him. It didn't make them any less terrifying; but a nightmare he'd imagined a hundred times would eventually stop making his palms sweat and his heart pound. It would become an Old Fear, as she'd started to think of them. Something that would rear its head occasionally to remind him that it would always be here. But after living with it for long enough, it wouldn't be able to do much more than that.

Maybe Nick was already tired of thinking about it. He stopped biting his nail and looked back to her. "Do you know what you're doing here?"

She could see him trying to make sense of this, trying to understand an idea that would never be anything less than borderline suicide. The first time she did it, she thought the was already dying. She never had any second thoughts because it was a last-ditch effort, the only thing that could've gotten Clementine out of the city and back to Christa and Omid in the time Amelia thought she had left. She walked through the horde prepared to act as Clementine's human shield. It didn't matter because she herself was already expendable.

She and Nick weren't as lucky this time. She watched him stir uncomfortably and knew the fact that he still had plenty to lose was quite a weight to carry.

She reached for the door handles. The longer they stood around overthinking this, the harder it was going to be. "I'm opening it now. Okay?"

She didn't get the door open more than an inch before Nick put his palm against it and forced it shut. _Slam._ "Say it. I need to hear you say it."

"I know what I'm doing." Her response was too fast, almost automatic, and he could tell. She tried again to open the door and he didn't let it budge.

She didn't mean to sound insincere. But the way she answered his question wasn't going to keep either of them alive. Only staying calm and moving quickly could do that. She looked at him, found his eyes, and tried again. "I'm absolutely sure this works. We can do this."

Nick seemed to roll the words over in his mind – Amelia knew what it looked like when a person was trying to decide whether she could be trusted – before taking a position by the shelf. She was relieved to see he was prepared to do his part for a plan they'd discussed over and over again while they waited for the sun to come up.

Amelia stooped down to pick up Hilda, silently apologizing to an old friend for leaving it on the floor. She could feel her own doubts looming over her, about to make her rethink what she was doing, so she threw both doors open and let out a sharp, high-pitched whistle before they got the chance.

The two walkers turned their rotting heads to look at her, followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, all staring at her with bloodshot eyes and empty sockets while they dragged themselves toward her. Standing still while they did was one of the hardest things Amelia had ever done.

"Come on, come on…" she whispered so quietly even Nick didn't hear, reaching out with her free hand, ready for the first one to get close enough for her to grab. Somewhere behind her, she heard a sharp tapping sound that was getting faster by the second. Trying to figure out what it was without looking away from the walkers coming toward her, she realized Nick was violently drumming his fingers on the shelf, at a speed that wasn't much faster than her heartbeat.

The walker that reached her had once been a man in a flannel shirt – not at all far from the way Carlos dressed – followed too closely by another, the corpse of a woman that was missing an arm. The man came at her with outstretched arms, fingers hooked in a way that could tear her eyes out, if she let him. When he was three steps away from the shed, Amelia stepped out to meet him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt in her fist and kicked the woman behind him square in the stomach, knocking her onto her back. She dragged the plaid-shirted walker inside, struggling to move his body weight as she swung him through the doorway and nearly pushed him up against Nick.

"Shit!" The disgust was clear in his voice as he recoiled against the shelf.

Once he was inside, she let him go with a downward shove; he cracked his head on the floor, but it wasn't enough to put him down. She stood over him and raised Hilda, and as she did Nick slammed the shed doors shut behind her. She buried the blade in the walker's skull before it had a chance to get up, and by the time it was dead Nick had tipped the shelf over again with a crash so violent it shook the floors of the shed.

They couldn't have counted to five before the doors caved in against the shelf, walkers moaning and screaming on the other side and sticking their fingers through the small space they were able to open.

Amelia lifted her ice pick again, pulling it out of the walker's head and bringing it back down into its chest cavity, just below the center of its ribcage.

"Jesus!" Nick flinched at the impact, shuddering at the wet, heavy sound the blade made when it pierced the meat of a human chest. "You're just gonna…fuck…"

She knew that if she stopped, she would only waste more time they didn't have. She would start to feel afraid, and guilty, and she would try to stall by asking Nick something stupid or suggesting they wait another day or two for help. She didn't think, she didn't want to think. All she wanted was to find her sister. So she dragged the blade down the walker's torso and gutted what had once been a human being for the second time in her life.

Do this now. Don't stop to think. Deal with the guilt later.

Maybe it was reckless, and cowardly. But if physically outrunning her fears was the only way to keep them away, then so be it.

Nick's eyes darted around the shed like he was looking for a corner to puke in. She wouldn't have blamed him if he did, and that was before the smell hit them both. It rose up from the corpse's open abdomen, a cloud of hot, noxious fumes they could feel but not see; it was disgusting enough to make Amelia drop her axe and stumble a few steps back just to get a breath of air that wouldn't make her retch. Nick turned away, toward the doors, and put the sleeve of his shirt up over his mouth and nose.

"You've got to be kidding me." He coughed. As sick as it would've been, Amelia wished it was a joke. He turned around to look at the body, keeping his face covered. She put her head against the overturned shelf, ignoring the walkers clawing away at the doors and reaching for her hair. She stared at the floor like a child on time-out.

 _How long of a time-out do you think it'll take to atone for what you just did?_

She had no idea. It was sick beyond words. It should've been measured in years of prison time, not minutes spent standing in a corner.

Nick's voice was muffled by his sleeve. "We're supposed to…to cover ourselves in it?"

Amelia turned around. _You can avoid looking at the body all you want. It's still going to be there._ "Yeah." Well aware that there was nothing she could say to make it sound less horrendous than it was, she knelt by the body and, with only a few seconds of hesitation, stuck both her hands into the opening she'd cut in it's stomach.

Nick wiped sweat from the back of his neck and put a hand over his stomach. "I think I'm gonna-" He stopped short and shook his head.

"Do it if you have to." She cupped both hands together to scoop out a massive handful of intestines and blood, and dropped all of it into her lap. She didn't need to look at him; imagining the look of horror and disgust on his face was enough. She didn't want to see him looking at her like that so she kept her eyes down while she covered the arms and front of her jacket.

"This is…this is so wrong…" Nick muttered.

"Yes, it is." Amelia said truthfully. There was a part of her that remembered she barely knew him. As long ago as it seemed, she'd only met him two nights ago. According to that part of her, what he thought of her didn't matter. There was another that desperately wanted him to know that she didn't want this. It was kicking and screaming for her to tell him, insisting that she didn't want him to see her this way.

It had been her idea, her kill. But no part of her wanted to do this and she hoped he knew that. She wiped the excess blood on her hands across her cheeks and her forehead, over her neck, and she wondered if he could believe that with the way she looked.

Nick didn't move, and she didn't want to push him more than she already had. She stood up and stepped in the stomach cavity to cover her feet and lower legs, one at a time. Then she picked up her axe and stood by the door, leaving him with nothing to do but follow her lead.

 _Follow the leader straight to hell._

He ran his hands over his face. Covering his eyes, he took a long, slow breath. Then, so quietly that she barely heard him: "Fuck it."

Amelia turned away, tired of staring at the door and looking at the walkers through the opening. Her heart was beating too fast and her hands were beginning to shake. This had been easier last time. Having Clementine around always made things easier.

This was all going to be worth it when she and Nick got back to the cabin and found her with the rest of his group, safe and waiting for the two of them to return.

And if that didn't happen…if nothing else, Amelia knew she tried. She would never be able to tell that to Clementine, which would be her only regret-

Something in the back of her own mind scoffed at her. _Right. That's the only thing._

-about this whole thing. But she herself knew. This wasn't like last time. She tried.

Nick spoke a little louder. "Fuck it." He'd started to pace the shed, rising in volume and energy and confusing the hell out of her. " _Fuck it._ "

"What are you-?"

"Fuck it! We're fucked anyway." He crouched over the walker, and after a few moments of staring at it with his hands hovering over it, grabbed two dripping handfuls of insides. Amelia watched as he covered himself and remembered that he'd wanted to stay behind, and maybe still did. It likely would've cost him his life, but it certainly would have been easier. His face twisted and his hands shook the same way hers had when she did it in Savannah. He gagged twice. But he kept digging into the corpse until his clothes were soaked in blood and entrails, all because he took her word that this would work. It was the reason she wouldn't have to do this alone.

She knew this wasn't the time or place to tell him that. If they survived, she'd consider doing it later.

Nick coughed and wiped his face with the back of his hand, unintentionally leaving a streak of blood across his nose and cheeks. He glanced at Amelia, unsure if he was covered enough and looking like he was hoping she wouldn't tell him to keep going. She answered him with a nod toward the door and he stood up to join her, picking up his rifle and looping the strap over his shoulder.

"Alright then." He said. "Let's get this over with."

She didn't understand how he was ready for this so suddenly; she was back to feeling jealous without knowing why. Whatever it was, it was working for him. He still knew the stakes, still knew they were one mistake away from being eaten alive, screaming and feeling every second of it. What the hell was he thinking that had him practically kicking down the doors?

He made her think of something her mother told her, years before: that confidence can be faked, and that if she was convincing enough, eventually it would become real. If she didn't already know Nick wasn't prepared for this, he could've fooled her. Maybe the same thing would work for her.

She straightened her posture to match his.

Fuck it.

"Just walk. Don't run, don't make any sudden moves, and don't make any noise."

He nodded. "Sure."

"Some of them might still approach you. Just push them away and keep moving. Kill them quietly if you have to. But don't fire the gun."

Nick didn't respond to that, probably still reacting to the news that some of the dead might still see him. Amelia regretted not mentioning it sooner, but it was too late now and she didn't want any misunderstandings. Their lives depended on it. She snapped red fingers by his head until she got his full attention. "Whatever you do. Do not. Fire. The gun."

She was tempted to tell him to unload it. But it made a better last resort than nothing.

He nodded again, and all she could do was hope he meant it.

She gripped the edge of the shelf and started pushing, before realizing she was pushing alone.

 _Damn it,_ she thought. _He's freezing up._ He stared straight ahead at the door, leaving them both with nothing to do other than listen to the walkers outside. She was out of time to give him; she couldn't take any more waiting.

"It's going to be fine," she breathed, hoping she sounded like she was trying to convince him and not herself. "All you have to do is keep-"

"I gave you the blanket."

Amelia only stared, and blinked. It was so unexpected, so out of place that she didn't understand the words right away. She slowly realized what he was talking about and thought back to the morning before as if it had been years. That blanket, the one she'd found and taken her best guess as to who left it there, hadn't crossed her mind in over twenty-four hours, and probably never would have again.

Nick finally looked at her, tightening his grip on his rifle. She could hear his fingernails scratching against the gun as his hands fidgeted. "I…really upset you with what I said. I felt bad."

"Oh."

"We're probably going to die doing this and…I didn't want you to…I just wanted you to know." Nick shook his head, maybe at himself. "I don't even know why."

 _Beats the hell out of me, too._

Amelia tried, really tried to think back, as hard as it was to get her mind off of the walkers they were about to face. She remembered his words and his actions, and what they really said to someone who was paying attention.

Yeah. Nick had left her the blanket, now that it had been spelled out for her.

"…thanks."

"Yep." Nick looked back to the door.

There was a long silence, during which Amelia wondered if there was something else she was supposed to say.

Nick put his hands on the shelf. "Alright. Open it."

They pried the shelf back out of place and pushed it up against the wall; it was barely upright when the walkers forced their way through, throwing the doors open stumbling into the shed with them. Nick and Amelia split, stepping out of their way and backing toward opposite sides of the shed. Three walkers wandered in, more on their way.

Her habit of preparing for the worst left her surprised by what happened. She'd imagined her own death so many times that morning, she wasn't expecting it when the walkers swept their empty eyes across the room – right over Nick and herself – and kept moving. They dragged themselves in on broken limbs, looking for something that, as far as they could tell, wasn't here.

Nick froze where he stood, keeping wide eyes on the walkers passing him by. This must've been the first time he'd ever been this close to one without attacking it or being attacked.

"Shit…" he whispered. "Holy shit…"

Amelia put a finger against her lips. Please, for the love of God, _shut the fuck up._

She nodded toward the open doors; when the doorway was clear she stepped outside, hoping he would follow her. She'd forgotten to tell him it would only get worse from here. She had a feeling he already knew.

Sunlight stung her eyes after so long in the dark and cold morning air bit her nose. She looked out at a forest crawling with the dead. They surrounded her, coming out of the tree line on every side and passing behind her so closely they brushed against her jacket. She looked everywhere for a clearing in the mob, a single empty space for her and Nick to run to, but there wasn't one. Not yet. They had to find it first. The only way out was through.

She looked out at their empty faces, their gaping, bleeding chest wounds and dislocated limbs. Every one of them had hollow eyes and skin that had gone grey. Some had remains of something they must have eaten alive still hanging from their teeth and-

 _Hell is empty and all the devils are here._

The lines came back to her out of nowhere, surprising her because she hadn't read them in years. She vaguely recalled them from a textbook, as part of a class she couldn't quite remember taking. Not now.

Maybe her world had become the new hell. She didn't have a hard time believing that.

Nick came out of the shed, flattening his back against the outer wall to avoid a walker limping by him; it stared straight ahead and saw nothing. He started walking behind her, keeping his rifle up against himself to keep the dead from walking into it.

They walked in slow, purposeful movements, leaning this way and that, taking small sidesteps to keep out of their way. Everywhere Amelia looked, there were more coming out of the brush. _You can run as far as you can, kill as many as you want. There will always be more of them than you._ As far as she could tell, there was no way out. She could only hope they were moving toward one they couldn't see yet.

Once or twice, she heard Nick make a low, panicky noise – brought on by a walker that got too close – and was struck with a sudden fear that he was about to lose it. Amelia caught his attention and, approaching the closest walker in front of her, gave it a gentle push to the shoulder. It took a lumbering step back, clearing a space for her to walk, and then stood there, motionless and blank. Nick seemed to understand, and when the next walker bumped into him, he turned it around by the shoulder, guiding it to wander off in another direction.

They walked for what seemed like hours. Corpses lumbered by, choking and hissing in her ears, closer than Amelia ever wanted to be to them. She breathed through her mouth, knowing that if she inhaled through her nose she would start choking on the stench of rotting flesh.

They came up on the hiker's path - the one that cut through the forest and led the way back to the cabin – and spotted it when it was maybe a hundred yards away. It was there. There were walkers scattered between them and where they wanted to be, but it was _right there._

"Nick," she got his attention despite speaking quietly, her heart pounding. He looked from her to the trail and understood. All they had to do was run. They were fast. Those things were slow. It would have to be enough. He seemed to be waiting for something, some signal of agreement. She gave him one in a nod and they both sprinted for the path, barreling past the corpses in their way.

Amelia ran, as frantic as she was hopeful-

 _-we're going to do this, we're actually going to do this-_

-and swung her axe into the face of a walker in front of her, not killing it but not caring. It wasn't until she was almost to the path that she realized she was ahead of Nick, and had been for a while. She slowed to a stop and looked back to check on him. In the second she did, a walker came at her out of the bushes, not unlike the one that surprised her years ago-

 _-repeated mistake-_

-lunging low out of the brush and into her legs. She was down before she could react, falling hard and fast and knocking her head against the ground. She cursed through gritted teeth, trying to see through the spots of color swimming in her vision while the walker pinned her legs into the ground, crawling its way up her body. She turned her ice pick sideways and pressed it into the walker's mouth as it leaned over her. It gnawed away at the metal, trying to bite through it and into her.

Hot blood seeped slowly down her face – she could feel it warming her cheek – and while she struggled to throw off the walker on top of her, another came out of nowhere and began to lower itself over her, coming for her neck.

A gunshot sounded off and echoed through the forest. The walker biting into her axe fell limp; its skull shattered and brain matter went flying from its head, suddenly leaving her crushed under its full body weight.

 _No._

Nick appeared behind the second walker and stepped on its neck, lifting his rifle and bringing it down onto its head one, two, three times. Amelia listened to the sound of its skull being crushed to pieces and stared up at the sky, still pink, still beautiful. She watched the flock of birds that had been startled by Nick's gunshot disappear over the horizon.

 _What have you done?_

He pushed the corpses off of of her one by one, and then pulled her to her feet with more strength than she knew he had.

"We need to go." She said the second she was upright again. _I told you not the shoot the gun, I told you not to shoot the fucking gun!_ "We have to go _now_ …"

She trailed off when she looked past him and realized the walkers behind them were looking at the two of them. Every single one. Checking over her shoulder, she saw the walkers crowding around the hiking path doing the same. For a moment, every one of them was still, herself and Nick included. All Amelia could hear was a distant ringing in her ear.

Then they started closing in.

"Run. Just run!" She made a grab for Nick's arm, but he moved it out of her reach and instead caught her by the shoulder. He turned her around and gave her a rough shove toward the path. Amelia stumbled toward it, looking out at the walkers – _too many to count, there are so many_ – closing in on the only opening they were going to get.

"Go!" he shouted at her, raising his gun on the horde.

"You too!" She didn't move. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You have your sister! You have to make it back!" Nick fired off one, two, three shots at the mass of bodies coming toward him. He dropped one of them. The rest took the bullets somewhere in their chests and kept coming.

"You have to come with me!" Amelia insisted, ignoring the voice that quietly reminded her he was too hung-over and uncoordinated to keep up with her. _How do you think you got so far ahead of him in the first place?_ The insisted to herself it wasn't true, that he could make it if he tried. She looked back to the path. They were almost out of time. "Nick, _what the hell_?" They were _so fucking close_. Why would he do this now?

He turned around and opened fire again, this time on the walkers between her and the path. He got one in the leg, crippling it and leaving it to drag its way toward her on the ground. He got another in the head, leaving a dark red bullet wound in its forehead before it fell down face-first.

He'd opened up a space for her, that was closing more by the second. She had to go _now,_ and she still clung to the idea that he could make it if he came with her. Just like that, she was back to lying to herself, lying to the rest of the world. _Nick can make it back. We'll find Mom and Dad. Duck is going to be fine._

 _I can keep Clementine safe for the rest of her life._

Charged by anger at someone she couldn't place – it could've been at him or at herself – she ran back to him and slipped a hand under his arm, trying to get him to move with her. "Turn the fuck around and-"

He yanked his arm out of her grip and pushed her toward the path again, harder this time. "Dammit, get back to the cabin, _now!_ "

It broke her heart to realize his last words sounded just like Pete's.

But they weren't his last words, they couldn't have been because he wasn't about to die here-

The path was nearly overrun. Nick kept shooting, swinging his rifle at the walkers that got close enough. "Fuck you, motherfucker!"

He wasn't listening to her. She couldn't stay here with him. He wasn't listening. She couldn't help him. He didn't want to be helped.

That's what she told herself as she stumbled onto the path and ran. That's what she repeated in her head as she sprinted all the way back to the cabin. Somewhere along the way, Nick's gunshots stopped and the forest went quiet again. It could've meant he was out of bullets. That's what Amelia tried to believe. But, somewhere else in her mind, quiet but still there all the same...

 _Dead men don't pull triggers._

* * *

By the time Amelia arrived at the cabin, her breath was dragging painfully in and out of her lungs. She'd hoped that if she found the group quickly enough, there would be time to go back for him, this time with friends and loaded guns; at the same time, a part of her knew it was too late. It was always too late. They could organize a search party, bring all the guns, go out as a group. The whole nine yards. But Amelia already knew what they were going to find.

She came to the steep incline of the hill just in front of the house and stopped, dropping into a crouch and taking a minute to breathe.

 _You fucked up._

She'd been locked in that shed for a day. She had one problem and over twenty-four hours to come up with a decent plan. And she had a bleeding head wound, a missing sister, and a dead friend to show for it.

Oh, God.

What was she going to say to his group? How was she going to explain this to the people who cared enough about him to threaten her into behaving herself the night before?

How was she going to tell them what had happened?

 _Don't sugarcoat it. Not 'what happened.' What you did._

He could've made it, if he hadn't fired that gun to save her life. If he'd kept his finger off the trigger, he would be the one sitting here, and she would be the one…

She shook her head, pressing the heels of her hands over her eyes. Here she was. Alive, for some reason, and trying to decide what to do next when all she could think about was what she'd already done.

She needed her sister. Not just to know she was alright. That was a given, always true.

Clementine would know what to say. She'd know how to stop the gut-wrenching guilt Amelia was feeling, to tell her it wasn't her fault, or at least to make her feel like she could live with herself even if it was. She would know what to say to Luke, to break the news to him so Amelia could explain herself.

If this group was going to despise her, she needed at least one ally. And there was no better ally than the one she knew she would always have.

She looked down at the house, and for the first time realized what she was seeing.

Something wasn't right.

She made her way down the hill in large, shaky steps, jogging to the porch and slowing to a stop in front of the steps. She listened; the house was dead silent. No sign of anyone inside. She'd expected the group to be out searching – if not for her and Clementine, then for Nick and Pete – but they wouldn't have left the house completely empty.

Especially not with the front door open.

Amelia pressed her back against the house between the door and the front window. She didn't like this.

 _Maybe you should turn around. Go look for Clem out in the woods._

But Clementine had had an entire day to get back to the cabin. The chances that she'd found her way were good-

 _-the chances that she's dead are better-_

She heard sudden footsteps. Heavy footsteps she would expect from a grown man; she thought of Alvin, or Carlos, and listened for their voices but didn't hear them. Instead she heard the deep, unfamiliar rasp of a voice she didn't know and…

 _Clementine._

She took the steps two at a time and almost charged inside without thinking. She'd never heard the other voice before. She was positive it belonged to a stranger who was alone in this house with her sister.

She forced herself to stop just outside the door. Rash decisions – especially ones driven by fear – would only get her or Clem killed. After straining to hear for a few seconds, she realized they were just…chatting.

"Well, I'll cut to the chase." The man was saying. "I'm out looking for my people. Eight of them to be exact. They've been gone a long while and I'm worried they might have gotten lost. Maybe you've seen 'em."

Amelia knew the undertones of a person who didn't get worried. At least not about other people.

"Couple of farm boys and an old man. Spanish guy and his daughter. Quiet girl. A bit taller than you. A woman, might be about your mom's age…she's got dark hair and big blue eyes. A big black guy…this big. And a pretty little pregnant lady."

Clementine answered carefully. "That's a lot of people to lose…"

"Tell me about it," the man chuckled. If she didn't pay much attention to his words, he might've sounded charming. But there was a predatory edge to his voice not far beneath the surface. "This whole damn thing's a pain in the ass."

The growing volume of their voices said they were coming closer. From what she could hear, it sounded like they were walking from the kitchen into the living room. Amelia stepped back and pressed her back against the wall, next to the door.

She caught a glimpse of the man before she did. Tall. Somewhat old. Brown coat. Grey hair. She wasn't able to catch more than that.

"Well, this is a real nice place," the man said, maybe thinking he sounded pleasant. "Kinda cozy."

Amelia peeked into the doorway, catching Clementine's attention after the man had passed. Her sister's face lit up, but her surprise was quickly replaced with worried discomfort.

"What are you looking at over there?" the man asked her, coming back into view.

Amelia moved, circling the house and going quietly for the kitchen door. As she did, she heard Clementine come up with a quick answer. "I'm not supposed to leave the door open like that."

"Well, we'll just close it then."

In the kitchen, Amelia closed the back door behind her slowly enough not to make any noise. She left the ice pick in its harness. She'd spotted a gun on the man's hip and decided against violence as the best approach, for now. If the was quiet and patient, he might leave on his own. She was more than prepared to kill him if he wouldn't. At least that's what she told herself.

She listened to their conversation through the door.

"I knew a guy that always wore shirts like this. Doctor. Real smug son of a bitch. But a smart man. I miss him."

"What happened to him?"

He answered, "Let's just say we had our differences," in a way that sent a chill down her spine.

She didn't like this man. No one had managed to make her this uneasy in a long time. She thought about rushing him when his back was turned. It couldn't have been a coincidence that he was here so soon after the massacre at the river. Whether this was the Carver Nick had talked about or someone who worked with him, she didn't know. Either, way he was capable of doing a lot a damage. She saw it in the way he moved, heard it in the way he talked.

 _You should do something before he gets the chance._

No. That would be stupid. She had an icepick and he had a gun. If she ran at him, he'd kill her and Clementine both. This had to be handled another way. Carefully.

"Sooner or later," he said. "People close to you find a reason to cross you. Happens every time."

Clementine was too smart to respond to that.

"Well, well…white's in trouble. Three moves away from checkmate." They must have been near the coffee table. "Mind if I take a look upstairs?"

 _For what?_

Clementine stayed quiet – she probably knew that her answer wasn't going to matter – and the next thing Amelia heard was heavy footsteps on their way up to the second story.

Amelia counted to five, then came into the living room. Clementine, who waited at the bottom of the stairs to keep watch for the man, caught Amelia's attention by waving her arms, and pointing to the couch without words.

No, not at the couch, but at a terrified girl crouched behind it, barely older than Clementine. She sat on the floor, her knees hugged up against her chest, and her red glasses her crooked on her face. Amelia could see her shaking from across the room.

 _Who the hell-?_ Amelia thought, before remembering that Carlos had a daughter. Sarah.

Clementine made increasingly frantic gestures, telling her to get Sarah out of the room. Amelia crouched to make eye contact with Sarah and silently gestured for her to cross the room and come to her.

 _Has she been hiding there this entire time?_

She girl shook her head hard, knocking her glasses even more askew than they already were. Amelia gestured again, whispering through her teeth while trying to keep an eye on the staircase.

" _Come here,_ " she hissed.

Watching the stairs, Sarah got up into a crouch and scurried into the hallway, stopping in front of Amelia.

"He can't see me…" she breathed, wide-eyed and hyperventilating. "You can't let him see me, please, you have to make him go away…"

Amelia shushed her and helped her to her feet. She opened the door to the hall closet as the man began to make his way back downstairs.

Sarah didn't hesitate to run inside. Amelia shut the door behind her and, checking on Clementine as she passed, left through the front door.

She waited for a full count of ten. Then she went back in and shut the door loudly behind her.

"Clementine," she called. "You still here?"

She turned the corner, saw the two people in the living room, and froze. "Oh…" An awkward pause followed. She held her breath while she waited to see if she was getting away with this.

The man was tall. Taller than she'd realized after his quick pass through the doorway. His shoulders were broad and the realized that in deciding she shouldn't start any fights with him, she still underestimated him. If she tried attacking him, she'd get tossed around the room. She hoped he would leave on his own; if he didn't want to, she had no way to make him, unless she got that gun away from him.

He had a thick grey mustache and deep frown lines in his forehead. He fixed Amelia with a steely glare that made her feel like he was looking through her rather than at her, seeing things she was trying to hide before she even spoke to him. Looking down to his hand, she saw he'd drawn his gun at the sound of the door opening. A silver revolver, which she would've bet was loaded in all six chambers. Enough bullets to have four left over after shooting her and her sister.

Clementine shifted uncomfortably, stepping back to gain distance from him as he stared Amelia down.

The pit of her stomach ran cold. She waited for him to say or do something, but in her heart she already knew he wasn't buying it.

She couldn't take the silence anymore, so she spoke first. "…who are you?"

The man broke out into a smile that was as sudden as it was fake. He put his gun away and spoke with the soft, cunning voice of a man who spent more time thinking than speaking.

"Of course! Where are my manners? You must be a part of this…group of dozens I've heard so much about."

Amelia walked cautiously into the living room, wanting to be closer to Clementine. "Yeah…why are you in our house?"

"Forgive me, sweetheart, I'm looking for some of my people. They went out some time ago and still haven't come back. Looks like you were just out in the forest yourself."

There was another silence, while Amelia wracked her brain for something to say.

 _Something, something, say something, anything!_

He saved her the trouble. "I don't mean to be rude, miss, but you look like you ran into some trouble out there. You must've gotten caught in that lurker horde moving through here."

Amelia nodded slowly.

"Well, I'm glad you made it out alright. That last group was a big one. Nasty, too."

 _Say. Something._ "I got lucky."

"It's a good thing you did. Did you see anyone else while you were out there?" One corner of his mouth tugged up into a smirk. "Living, I mean."

Amelia paused, hoping she looked like she was trying to remember. "I did see some people. Yesterday. By the river. Headed East."

The man crossed his arms. "Really?"

"It didn't look like they had anywhere to stay. They carried a lot of supplies with them."

"That so? How many were there?"

She didn't like the tone of his voice. She felt like she was being scrutinized in a way she wasn't aware of. Like he was asking her trick questions and her life depended on her answers.

"I saw three."

"Can you describe them for me?"

It was clear in the way he talked that he didn't want to know what they looked like. He sounded like he'd already caught her in a lie and now he was just toying with her, watching her dig herself into a deeper and deeper grave. He folded his arms and grinned.

"I didn't get close to them."

"That's smart. You never know with strangers. There are a lot of dangerous people out there."

 _Out there. In here._

"What did you say your name was?"

She didn't. She hesitated to tell him, wondering how much damage he could do with her name. "Amelia."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," An unpleasant twinge jumped somewhere in the pit of her stomach. He pointed a finger and moved it between her and Clementine. "Don't suppose you two are sisters?"

Clementine was quiet, and Amelia was relieved her sister was letting her do the talking.

She nodded her answer. The fewer words she said to this man, the better.

"I knew it. You look just like each other. Uncanny, really."

"What's your name?"

"George. Pleasure to meet you."

The man took another glance around, from one end of the room to the next.

 _He's looking for something._ What it was, Amelia didn't know, and she wasn't about to ask him. The only thing she could say she did know was that his name wasn't George.

"You're bleeding, Amelia."

She remembered that she'd hit her head, having almost forgotten about it completely. She put a hand up to her hairline and felt a broken stitch jutting out of her skin. She looked at her hand and found her fingertips stained with fresh, bright red blood that actually belonged to her.

The man placed his hands on his hips and talked to her in that tone again, the one that said he knew more than she realized and challenged her to try to convince him of something that wasn't true. "You popped your stitches. Now how'd you do that?"

"Just an accident."

"Come on, now. You've got me worried."

 _Right._

Amelia didn't volunteer an answer. A small part of her already knew there wouldn't be any point.

"Whoever stitched that up for you did an excellent job."

"My cousin lives with us. Med student."

He grinned. "Your cousin, huh?"

"That's what I said."

"What's his name?"

" _Her_ name is Diana."

That made him chuckle. It was a deep, gravelly laugh that could only have come from years of booze and cigarettes. "You might want to take care of that. Bad things happen when you let that kind of thing to unattended."

"I'll keep that in mind." Amelia changed the subject, knowing there was no inconspicuous way to do it. "Did you want some water before you go?"

He looked at her, a ghost of a smile on his mouth and something wrong in his eyes. "No, ma'am. But that's kind of you to offer. You don't meet many polite young ladies such as yourself these days."

"That's a shame."

"Yes it is."

He stared at her for a long time – much longer than she was comfortable with – leaving her with no idea what to expect him to do at any second. She imagined him lashing out without warning and hitting her across the face. Maybe he'd take out his gun and shoot her in the head. She was out of ideas to stop him from doing either. So she waited.

"I suppose I'll be on my way, then. There's just one more thing." He reached into his jacket pocket and showed her a photograph. Of Sarah. She had an ear-to-ear smile and she was waving to whoever was behind the camera. It had clearly been taken recently, and in this house. "Who's this?"

Amelia felt the blood drain from her face. He knew. Of course he knew. He always had.

"I wouldn't know."

"Are you sure? Try again. Take a good look. You sure you don't know this girl?"

"I've never seen her." Amelia spoke slowly and kept her voice level, hoping it would make her sound calm.

He looked down to Clementine, and held the photo up for her. "And you?"

Clementine took a step closer to Amelia, crossed her arms, and glared. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." The man lowered the picture, turning to address Amelia again. He shook his head slightly. Stood up straight and looked down his nose at her.

"You have no idea who these people are, do you?"

"I wouldn't. They're your people."

"Right. Let me ask you this." He stepped forward unexpectedly, abruptly closing the gap of space between them in a way that made her want to run and hide. Sprint up the stairs, dive headfirst out the living room window, anything to stay away from him. Clementine tried to step in front of her. Amelia put an arm out to stop her, pushing her back. "When you met them, how much did they trust you?"

"How much do you trust strangers?"

 _Did I just defend them?_ She asked herself, shocked at her own words.

 _To this asshole? Gladly._

"I'll tell you how much I trust you. Not one bit." The man shook his head. "You're not a good liar, sweetheart."

"Leave."

"Now are you sure there's nothing you want to-"

"Get out of our house."

"-tell me, Amelia? Any help finding my people would be much appreciated. I'll be sure not to forget it."

She tried to swallow but her throat had gone dry. "I have nothing to tell you."

She got the feeling the decision she'd just made would have more consequences than she realized.

"Well, then." The man straightened up, and after a moment walked calmly to the front door. "You girls have a real good day, now."

Amelia didn't return the gesture.

He shut the door behind him. Clementine quickly ran over to lock it.

* * *

Amelia paced the room, trying to think while Clementine helped Sarah out of the closet and tried to calm her down. She was still shaking violently and had yet to say a word since she'd come out. Amelia wanted to ask her who that man was, since she obviously knew. The way she whimpered and shook her head at Clementine's reassuring words changed her mind. If this was her reaction to seeing him again, Amelia didn't want to think about what she must have seen him do. Her own imagination on the subject was terrifying.

Amelia took a seat alone on the couch. This was much worse than she thought. An ominous feeling loomed over her, one that said something overwhelming and destructive was on its way. The last time she'd had this feeling was –

 _The bells rang throughout the city for miles, a deep, heavy death march that would soon fill the empty streets with soulless dead. The living would have to clear out fast, unless they wanted to join them._

" _Ask not for whom the bell tolls," Chuck said to no one in particular._

She put her head in her hands, remembering that shortly after, Clementine was stolen away and she was infected. Last time, this feeling foretold something awful, and history had a way of repeating itself.

 _It tolls for thee…_

Maybe the catastrophe had already started. The group had already lost two people.

Maybe she was a part of it. Something was about to happen to these people, and maybe whatever cosmic force was pulling strings and orchestrating their deaths had decided the end of their lives would begin with meeting her. People had a way of dying around her.

" _Amelia._ " Clementine said forcefully, raising her voice to get her attention. Amelia met her eyes and blinked, realizing it wasn't the first time Clem had said her name. Her sister looked her over with concern. "We need to figure out what we're going to do."

Amelia wasn't surprised to see her sister was the collected one, again.

Sarah stood at the window, staring out at the front yard. She surprised Amelia by turning around and asking,

"What if he comes back?"

Amelia ran her hands over her face. Out of nowhere, she'd become the oldest in the room. The only adult, or the closest thing to it. For the first time in years she was in charge of someone other than Clementine, a group larger than two. It was a job she didn't envy, and hoped she'd get the chance to pass it back to Carlos, or Luke.

She sighed, talking more to herself than to anyone else. "He will."

Sarah gasped. Amelia hadn't thought it possible, but her eyes went even wider. "What? No, no he can't!" She looked to Clementine, maybe hoping Clementine would tell her Amelia was wrong. "Clementine?"

Clem shot Amelia a look. She didn't understand and looked back at her questioningly.

Clem lowered her voice. "Sarah is…fragile. Just…be careful what you say around her."

"I told her the truth."

"Exactly."

Amelia looked for another way to answer her. "We won't be here when he does."

Sarah didn't acknowledge that she'd heard her. She'd gone back to watching the front yard, waiting for the man to return immediately after he left. Amelia addressed Clementine, who she knew she could trust to keep a level head. "We're leaving."

"Are you sure?"

"What else is there?"

"I mean, are you sure we shouldn't wait for the group?"

"We'll leave them a note telling them the direction we're walking in. And warning them to leave as soon as they get here. We can't wait around for them. Grab as many supplies as you can carry. They'll pick up the rest." She thought again of Nick. "We have a stop to make on the way out."

Even if it was just to find his corpse. She wanted to have answers for the group when she saw them. She'd have been lying if she said it wasn't also to get closure for herself. She had to know if he was dead so she could know whether she should hate herself.

"Okay." Clementine nodded, and went off to do the job she'd been given.

"Wait," Amelia stopped her, kneeling down to her level. Her first thought had been to hug her sister, but she looked down at herself and remembered that she was a blood-soaked mess. "Right. I wanted to give you a hug, but-"

Clementine stepped forward, put her arms around Amelia's shoulders, and squeezed before she knew what her sister was doing. It took a moment for Amelia to recover from her surprise and return the hug.

"I was worried about you," Amelia said over her sister's shoulder.

"Same here." Clementine said as she let go and stood upright to find red spots staining her purple shirt at the collar. It made her shudder and she didn't hide it well.

"You don't know how worried I was."

"Yeah, I think I do."

"What happened to Pete?"

"We hid inside an old truck. There were walkers everywhere. He…he didn't have the strength to get away. But I made run for it." Clementine looked down at her feet. "I left him."

"You couldn't have helped him. I tried to tell you that before you left the river with him."

"He needed my help." Clem frowned at her, suddenly defensive. "You wouldn't have left him either."

Clementine's choice hadn't been smart. It could have gotten her killed. But Amelia couldn't argue with behaviors Clementine had learned from her.

"So, did you…?" Clementine trailed off, looking over Amelia's face and clothes. She didn't need to finish for her sister to know what she was asking. She nodded. "And it worked?"

"For the most part."

"Then…where's Nick? You were with him, right?"

"We got separated this morning. We're going to look for him at the last place I saw him. So get the supplies, please."

"Got it." Clem nodded and jogged up the stairs.

"Sarah?" Amelia stood up and called to her, and didn't get an answer. So she crossed the room and pulled up a chair next to her. "Sarah."

Sarah turned to look at her, her hands on the windowsill, but didn't say anything.

"We need to be smart about this."

"What…what are you going to do?"

Amelia purposely altered her voice to sound more calm than she felt. They were on a time limit, but she had a feeling if Sarah knew that, things would only get worse.

She thought back to what Carlos had told her the night before about Sarah, that if she was put under enough stress she would stop functioning altogether. From the look on her face, she was dangerously close to a complete shut-down. "I'll show you. But I need you to stay close and listen, okay? I know this is scary. But…we have a problem to fix. And you can't fix anything if you're panicking."

"But I don't know how to fix things," Sarah shook her head, close to tears. "My dad does that. I just want my dad."

"And we're going to find him." Amelia answered, keeping her tone light and her words gentle. "But you have to pull yourself together first. Understand?"

Sarah nodded in a way that said she didn't, not giving Amelia much more than an empty stare. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and looked up at Amelia's forehead.

"You're hurt."

"There's a way to fix that, too."

Her voice still shook as she talked. "My dad can do it when he comes back. Or Luke."

"I can show _you_ how to do it," Amelia said. "It's not as hard as it sounds."

Sarah didn't give any indication that she'd heard or understood. "Nick could fix it, too. Last week, I f-fell, and-and he put a Band-Aid on my knee." She turned back to the window and her voice finally broke. "I just want everyone to come back now. I want my dad…"

Amelia realized this conversation had gone as far as it ever would. And that Sarah had a problem that would take more than a few minutes of talking to address. It was a new problem altogether, and solving it involved an unpleasant conversation with her father.

"We're going to find them. Just be ready to leave in a few minutes. Go upstairs and pack a bag."

Sarah didn't move.

 _Damn it._

She'd stopped listening, and Amelia doubted she'd be able to get through to her again. She seemed to like Clementine. Maybe she could convince her to move. At the very least Clem could pack her things for her.

Amelia went to the kitchen, trying not to waste time they didn't have. When Clementine came in to join her, she would tell her to go help Sarah. But at the moment, Amelia needed to stop herself from having a meltdown that would put Sarah's to shame.

She went for the sink, lifting the faucet handle and putting her hands under the freezing water. She did her best to scrub the muck off of her skin and out from under her fingernails.

 _I'm not a corpse yet. Get this shit off of me._

When her hands were clean, she cupped them into a bowl, brought water to her face, and rubbed, not at all gently. She tasted blood and spit it into the sink. The sharp, metallic smell lingered in her nose even after she watched the last of it seep down the drain.

She'd made a mistake. A huge one, that she didn't know could be fixed at this point.

 _You'll have to be more specific than that._

The kitchen door opened and shut loudly. Amelia looked up, her first thoughts being of that man, returning with more people and more guns.

"Amelia," Luke stood in the doorway, surprised to see her. There was an exhausted rasp in his voice, and she could see the shadows under his eyes from across the room. "What happened? Is Clementine with you?"

"She's fine." Amelia turned away from him, pretending she needed to face the sink. Any excuse not to look at him. _You've lost your friend because of me._ And he didn't even know yet.

Luke walked further into the room. "Have you seen Nick or Pete? You know where they are?"

"I don't…" Amelia pressed her fingertips to her stitches. They came away red and she smeared the blood across her fingertips with her thumb before rinsing them off in the water. "I don't know where they are."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"We got separated from Pete yesterday, at the river. I was with Nick but we were separated this morning."

"That…that mess up at the river. Y'all weren't involved in all that, were you?"

"No. That was…" Amelia gripped the edge of the counter and stared into the drain. "That'd already happened."

"Those gunshots in the forest a few minutes ago? We heard it and came running, but then they just up and stopped and we couldn't figure out where they were coming from."

"That was us."

"Alright…alright…" Luke came to stand by her and she heard him curse quietly. He put a hand on the counter, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. "Okay." He looked up. "The others are right behind me. We'll rally and head back out to look for them. You can show us where to go."

"We need to leave the cabin. And we can't come back."

"What…? What makes you say that?" Luke looked over his shoulder, having heard something Amelia didn't. She followed his line of sight to the living room door; it had opened so quietly that neither of them had noticed. Clementine stood in the doorway, aiming Amelia's gun at him and just now starting to lower it. "Clementine?"

"Luke," she said, rushing into the kitchen to meet the two of them. "You're back."

"You're alright," he said, relief clear in his voice. From the look on Clementine's face, Amelia guessed the worry had been mutual. Luke's expression changed. "…and pointing a gun at me…"

"Sorry," Clementine put the gun on the counter, leaving it there for Amelia. "I thought-"

She stopped short when Carlos opened the back door. Rebecca and Alvin followed him in, single-file, both carrying rifles.

Carlos looked to Clementine and asked her immediately, "Where is Sarah?"

Clem went back to the living room door and knocked on it twice with a fist. "Sarah, you can come out," she called into the other room. "Your dad's here."

Sarah came rushing through the door so quickly Amelia thought she must've been waiting on the other side, running straight into Carlos' arms for a hug.

"Come out?" he demanded sharply. "Why was she hiding?"

"You can tell us on the way." Luke cut in. He addressed Carlos, Rebecca, and Alvin. "Nick and Pete are still out there somewhere. Alvin, you and Rebecca stay here and wait for Pete. Amelia's going to take us to the last place she saw Nick."

Amelia and Clementine answered him simultaneously.

"I just said we can't stay here."

"No, Luke, we can't do that,"

Amelia recognized the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened – something she'd only seen once and knew didn't happen often – and understood why he addressed her and not Clementine.

"What are you talking about?"

Amelia knew what he was about to find, and she didn't want him expecting too much. "Look, I don't actually know where he is-"

"What do you mean you don't know where he is? You _just_ told me you left the river with him."

"I told you we got separated."

"Separated _where?_ We've been out looking for you for hours. Where were you?"

 _Where was she?_ She bristled, already on a short fuse and not taking kindly to the tone of his voice, and the way it implied this was her fault. She already blamed herself more than enough for the two of them. "The shed, up the hill. We were half a mile from the house the entire time, so where the hell were you?"

" _Hey._ Come on, that ain't fair," Luke snapped back at her just as quickly. This wasn't the first time Amelia had talked to him like that, or the second. It occurred to her that even people as nice as Luke had a breaking point. So did she; the threshold for hers was just much lower. "That part of the forest was overrun. If we could've looked for you there, we would've."

"Stop it!" Clementine interjected, looking between the two of them. "We can't fight right now!"

Again, Luke didn't answer her. "Hard to believe Alvin and I spent all night out there looking for you, if this is the thanks we get."

"You couldn't have sent someone better at it?"

Amelia glared, arms crossed. Maybe on another day she would've said thank you or found some other white flag to wave. But she didn't feel like making peace. She felt attacked, and very aware that one person blaming her for anything that had happened – especially if that one person was the group _leader_ of all people – would quickly have the rest of the group doing the same.

For the first time she'd seen, Luke raised his voice. " _Alright, you know what?_ Do you have some kind of problem with me? _Did I do something_ to you to make you act like this, because I'd love to know what it was!"

"Enough!" Carlos silenced the room. "I've heard enough from all of you!"

It took the loud, thundering voice of a father figure – certainly not _her_ father, who never yelled at her like that –

 _-yeah, and look how you turned out-_

– backed by authority and rage to wake her up. He was right. This was childish, and a waste of time they didn't have.

It was also unfair, to one person in particular.

Going off like that was something to be expected from Carlos. But Luke wasn't one to do that. Alvin and Rebecca's dumbfounded expressions confirmed that. Luke was patient and forgiving, which he'd made abundantly clear, given Amelia's behavior and the way he normally responded to it. But he'd finally lost it, and she'd been the one to get him there. It sounded like an accomplishment, but it was something she wasn't even remotely proud of.

Fighting wouldn't solve any of their problems. And attacking Luke wouldn't make her any less responsible for what happened to Nick.

"Clementine," Carlos demanded. "Why was my daughter hiding in this house?"

Sarah answered before Clem could. "A man was here."

"What?" Carlos' eyes widened, just for a second. If Amelia hadn't known better, she would've thought it was fear. More than that; it looked like undisguised terror.

Rebecca spoke from the other side of the room. "What…what did she say?" She'd gone pale, and Amelia thought she heard her voice crack.

"Someone came to the cabin," Sarah stared at the floor, throwing her words out quickly and wringing her hands together. "Clementine talked to him."

Rebecca was quick to jump on her. "And you just opened the door for him?"

"Back off." Amelia warned her. This wasn't Clementine's fault-

 _-might be yours-_

-and she wasn't about to let Rebecca blame her for any of it.

"Oh, I better not get any shit from you,"

Luke shot her a look, arms crossed. "Calm down, Rebecca."

"Calm down? _I am calm! You calm down!_ "

If nothing else, Amelia was familiar with aggression. Tact, grace, patience…those were difficult, but aggression she spoke fluently. She knew what it looked like, sounded like, and when it was being used as a defense mechanism to deal with fear.

"I didn't open the door," Clementine shot a look to Amelia, of all people, to her surprise. Maybe to remind her that she was capable of defending herself. "He just came in."

"She's telling the truth!" Sarah said, speaking to Carlos more than anyone else. "Amelia made him go away."

Carlos looked to Amelia. "Is this true?"

She shook her head. "He left on his own. He was looking for something and he didn't find it." She had a feeling she knew what it was; if she had to guess, it walked through the kitchen door minutes after he'd gone.

Clementine nudged Amelia in the hip, looking up at her. She looked worried.

"Amelia,"

"What?"

She felt a sudden sting in her eye; whatever it was, it was warm. She flinched and shut her eyes, wiping blood from her eye socket with her fingertips. It had started dripping from her forehead again, in a thin line that ran down into her eyelashes. She could tell a few people in the room had noticed by the way they stared at her without trying to look like they were staring. She caught Luke looking – who didn't bother to pretend he hadn't noticed – and turned away, trying to wipe the blood away but only smearing it over her skin and making it worse.

Luke went back to the sink, opened a kitchen drawer, and started digging through it.

"Did he say his name? Did he say what his name was?" Carlos asked. There was that look again. Amelia could see the whites around his eyes and wondered, if this was coming from someone as stoic and collected as Carlos, whether she should've been as worried as he was.

Rebecca made a suggestion that even she knew wasn't true, given the way her voice shook. "Maybe it wasn't him,"

Alvin answered her before anyone else did, with disdain in his voice that didn't sound right coming from him. "You know damn well who it was."

Luke found a clean dish rag and put it under the faucet for a few seconds, before shutting the water off and wringing it out over the sink. When he turned back and approached her with it, Amelia half-expected him to throw it at her. She would've, if she were him, and she'd have thrown one hell of a dirty look with it.

He held it out to her, and waited for her to take it. No smile this time.

"…thanks."

She turned away again, not wanting everyone in the room to watch her clean herself up, and pressed it to the bleeding half of her face.

"He talked about you, Dad," Sarah muttered anxiously. Carlos brought up a hand to scratch his jaw. She didn't like the look in his eyes. Maybe Sarah didn't, either. "You're not going to hurt anyone are you?" She asked hurriedly.

"Of course he won't Sarah, alright? Your dad's the nicest man I know, which is why…" he looked to Carlos, his next words pointed and clearly intended for him and not his daughter. "…he's not going to do anything crazy…or _not nice_. Right?"

Amelia doubted Carlos was the nicest man anyone knew. She tried to think of the nicest man she knew, and came up with Luke.

Carlos turned to Sarah with a hand on her shoulder. He used a voice Amelia had never heard from him before. To her own surprise, she found it endearing, seeing a man so formidable and unmoved speak so gently to his little girl. "You know these are bad people, sweetie. They will do or say anything to hurt us."

"What do you think?" Luke looked between Clementine and Amelia. "Did it seem like he would be coming back?"

"Of course he will," Carlos answered for them. "He was scouting. We got lucky. He wasn't expecting to find us; the girls must have surprised him. He was too smart to stick around. But he'll be back with the rest."

"He's right." Luke agreed. "Everyone pack up. We're moving out in five."

Carlos leaned down, once again softening his voice to talk to Sarah in a way that wouldn't scare her. "We have to leave now, sweetie. Before he comes back with more bad guys."

"But Dad…"

"It's going to be okay." Carlos gently turned her by the shoulder and directed her toward the living room. "Just go get your things."

Sarah did as she was told, and left the kitchen.

As the door closed behind her, Alvin left, in front of his wife for once, rather than behind her. This time Rebecca followed him out, pleading,

"Alvin, wait,"

Amelia exchanged a look with her sister. She'd finished wiping the blood from her face – the rag was spotted with blotches of bright red – and had gotten the bleeding to slow down.

"Are you going to be okay?" Clementine asked. Amelia nodded.

Carlos seemed to remember the two of them were here. "Amelia. Clementine. I don't know what he told you. But William Carver is a dangerous man."

"I gathered." Amelia said quietly, bunching the rag up into her hands.

"He's the leader of a camp not far from here, and he's very smart. We were lucky to escape him. I'm sorry to involve you, but now that he's seen you, you'll be safer with us."

Amelia avoided eye contact, staring out at nothing. She knew she'd been right about staying with these people. She should've marched Clementine out of this house the minute she woke up the morning before. She'd have had to deal with Clem resenting her for a while, but disappointing her was a small price to pay to keep her safe. It was nothing Amelia hadn't done before.

She wore her thoughts plainly on her face, and Carlos seemed to pick up on them. "There's no doubt he knows you're with us. I am sure he's got people out looking for you. I'll take a look at your stitches when we are a safe distance from the cabin, but right now we need to leave."

Clementine guessed what she was thinking as well. She'd probably known before anyone else did. By now Clem could see Amelia's decisions coming from a mile away. It was both a good and a bad thing.

"It's too dangerous for us to go out on our own." She leaned forward, trying to get into Amelia's line of sight and catch her eyes. "Especially now…"

Every place was dangerous. Amelia still thought they were taking on more problems than they had to. She didn't want that man following her or her sister. They didn't need this.

 _If that's true, then do it. Own up to what you've been saying. Leave these people right now._

The thought of taking Clementine's hand and striking out into the forest kept her mouth shut. They would be alone again, and anything that happened to Clementine out there would be her fault, for choosing that.

That, and her conversations with Nick in the shed amounted to the most interaction she'd had with another human being in…almost three years. Even when she ignored him, there had at least been another person in the room. A person trying to talk to her, to his credit, even when she didn't make it easy.

It felt selfish to make her decision this way. It didn't feel like a good enough reason to stay; that wasn't going to stop her from using it.

"You said we leave in five?" Amelia asked Carlos, knowing it had been Luke who said it. She ignored a prodding voice that told her she was making another mistake.

"Yes." Carlos answered her. "Five minutes. Take what you can carry."

 _Add it to the list._

Amelia turned and left through the kitchen door, telling herself she had supplies to find when she knew damn well she was hiding from the people the room, including – especially – her sister, and Luke.

* * *

Once in the living room, Amelia stopped and leaned up against the back of the couch. She had five minutes to find something useful and no idea where to start looking. Alvin got her attention from the top of the stairs, leaning slightly over the banister.

"Hey, Amelia, could you come here for a second?" Then he turned and disappeared into one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Oh. She knew what this was about. She tried to think of something to say as she climbed the stairs, knowing that if she and Clementine were staying, she should do some damage control after her most recent…lapse in judgment.

 _Or you could stop doing the damage in the first place._

Upstairs, Amelia turned the corner to see Rebecca, folding clothes that were strewn out across the bed. She'd rolled them, to take up less space, and was busy packing them into two backpacks that laid open in front of her. She glanced up at Amelia for a brief second, then went back to it.

Alvin came into view in the doorway. He grinned and held up a hand as Amelia approached the room.

"Woah, woah, that's close enough."

Right. Amelia had almost forgotten she was giving off a smell that could peel paint. Clementine loved her enough to tolerate it, which had almost fooled her into thinking the others wouldn't be revolted, but that had been wishful thinking.

"About…back there…" With the way she'd acted she couldn't imagine Alvin joining the search party the next time she went missing. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to seem ungrateful."

Alvin's face changed; he blinked, and seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh, that?" Just like that, his smile was back. "Amelia, let me tell you something. My wife is eight and a half months pregnant." He leaned in and lowered his voice, just enough so Rebecca could no longer hear. "I'm pretty good at dealing with women who get a little…" he paused, looking for the word. "…cranky."

Behind him, Rebecca narrowed her eyes. "Alvin, what did you just say to her?"

Alvin straightened up, and looked at his wife over his shoulder with a smile so big, it would've seemed fake coming from anyone else. "Don't worry about it, baby." He turned back to Amelia. "I'm a damn expert by now."

Amelia nodded and tried to smile, but didn't quite get there. She remembered Clementine telling her to smile when people did nice things for her, and considered it the next thing to change.

"Anyway," Alvin turned around and picked up two pieces of clothing folded into a neat stack; from what she could see, they looked like a shirt and a pair of jeans. "Bec wants you to have these." He said, as he came back to the doorway and handed them to her.

Rebecca continued folding, and didn't look up or disagree with him.

"Um…" Amelia kept the clothes at an arm's length, trying to keep them away from the clothes she was currently wearing. "I..." The confusion made her inarticulate, and she struggled for the phrase _thank you_.

"Yeah," Alvin looked back, talking to Rebecca. "She doesn't believe me."

"I told you."

"She figured you could use them." He said to Amelia. "The pants were with all the stuff we found when we moved in, and we don't throw anything away in this house-"

" _We don't throw things away when they break. We fix them."_

"-so, they're all yours. And the shirt is one of Rebecca's."

Amelia leaned to look past Alvin and talk directly to Rebecca. "Thank you."

Rebecca didn't look at her, and answered dismissively. "It's for everyone's sake." Like Amelia, the woman was guarded in many ways, but completely transparent in others; the tone of her voice didn't make any secret of the way she really felt. _Just go put them on and leave me alone._

If that was how she wanted her to return he favor, Amelia didn't have a problem complying with it.

"Thanks," she muttered to Alvin.

"Don't mention it. Just be ready to move out soon."

From behind him: "Close the door, Alvin."

He listened to his wife, but he left her with a smile before he did.

She turned around to see Clementine and Luke on their way up the stairs. By the time she saw them they were almost at the top, and they had her only escape route blocked unless she was willing to jump the banister.

"Hey," Luke said, wearing an expression she didn't quite understand. She could tell he'd cooled off enough that he wasn't _visibly_ angry with her anymore. Of course, no one in the room - not her, not him, not Clementine - was naive enough to think his feelings weren't there just because he wasn't wearing them openly.

Clementine stopped by his side and looked up at him with crossed arms. She seemed to be waiting for something.

"I'm sorry." He said. _He_ was sorry? He seemed to be trying to make eye contact with her, which she avoided by staring down at her new clothes. Another thing these people had given her that she hadn't earned and didn't deserve. "For yelling at you," he added.

"I would've yelled at me too." Amelia mumbled, playing with a loose thread that stuck out from Rebecca's shirt.

"Really, I shouldn't have done that. I don't…" Luke brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. His face had softened, but Amelia could still see frustration in his eyes. "I don't normally talk to women like that. God, I sound like an asshole…" He looked away and mumbled to himself. "'I don't normally do this.' No one ever believes that…"

Amelia did. She was suddenly able to connect dots that had always been there. His thick accent, the gentle nature, the place he was likely born and raised all pointed a sense of Southern chivalry. She didn't fully understand it, and had always thought the idea was dated. She didn't think women needed any more protection than men, at least not in her experience and not in Clementine's. The remembered some of the women she'd met since the world had gone to hell; the thought that any one of them needed help they couldn't give themselves was almost laughable.

But it made her remember they way her father always held doors for her mother. It was strange and pleasant to see it again, especially in a time she'd thought no one found it worth keeping around.

"It's okay. Really, it's fine." Amelia knew Clementine would be staring an apology out of her next, and decided to beat her to it. "I'm sorry for everything I said in there. I don't know what I was…what I was doing."

She glanced at Clementine, and saw she was giving her the look anyway.

"We've all been on edge since yesterday. It's hard on everyone when people go missing, and now all this, with…with Carver finding the cabin…I'm just…" Luke said. "Nick is my best friend. Just about the only one I got left. He's been gone for a long time and I don't even know if he's alive."

 _I do._

She understood that, being impatient and quick to go off when she was worried about someone she loved. If she could be forgiven for doing it damn near all the time, then Luke could be forgiven for doing it once. "I'll show you where we hid out last night. It's where we got separated." She knew better than to make any promises beyond that, and Luke knew better than to ask her for one.

"Thank you." He wore a look of genuine optimism so often that it was easy to tell when his expression was forced. It didn't look right; his smile didn't reach his eyes.

He was halfway down the stairs when Amelia called after him.

"You didn't." He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Do anything, I mean." He answered her with a nod, and left the room.

Clementine put a hand on the banister, pausing at the top of the steps. "I'll see you outside?"

"Of course you will."

"Good."

* * *

 **Thank you again to author BHBrowne for helping edit this chapter. His stories are personal favorites, and I can't recommend them enough!**


	10. Red Dirt

"You said it was up here?"

"Yeah. Just a little further."

Fifteen minutes of silent walking had brought the group back to the clearing Amelia had thought she was going to die in, more than once. In a few minutes she and Luke would walk right over the spot she'd stopped to look back for Nick. Where she'd let her guard down and let a walker catch her by the legs. Another mistake that almost killed her.

It would have. But someone bailed her out, and might have paid for it with his life.

She couldn't help but think he'd been severely short-changed.

Most of the herd had moved on in the time she'd been gone. Isolated walkers got in their way here and there, and each time someone stepped in to put it down. But by now the area was littered with the dead – the truly dead – that she and Nick had left behind. Amelia didn't remember killing this many.

 _Nick must have done a number on the herd after you left him._

She looked over the bodies, sweeping over their faces and hoping she wouldn't recognize any of them, and noticed Luke doing the same. She counted the hollow-eyed corpses and imagined Nick's open-fire was a struggle for survival. A refusal to resign himself to death while bullets-

 _-cartridges-_

-were still in his gun.

It wasn't a last-ditch effort to kill as many walkers as he could out of spite…before he died. Not a final middle-finger to the creatures that killed his mother and ruined his life. Not a time-bomb finally going off as he was always meant to, because there was only one fate that awaited people like him-

 _-us-_

-and trying to damage everyone and everything he could on his way to his grave.

She couldn't claim to know much about Nick. But if she were to ask Luke, who knew him very well, which was more likely…she had an idea of what the answer would be.

She didn't ask him, of course. She walked alongside him at the head of the group, leading what was left of the party out into the woods with no intention of going back the way they came. Clementine trailed behind them, followed by Carlos and Sarah, then by Alvin and Rebecca. This was it. They'd been chased out of their home – not that it had been Amelia's or Clementine's to begin with – and were back to wandering the forest with everything they owned on their backs.

Luke carried two backpacks. Amelia didn't share his optimism, but she understood it.

Amelia had borrowed a spare, which she used to carry her and Clementine's things, despite the two of them not having much to put in it. She and Clem had left everything they owned at their campsite up the river. Clem had a better excuse for leaving it than she did; her own excuse amounted to head trauma and lapse in judgment, which she didn't consider good enough. Regardless, it was gone by now. Amelia hoped it was picked up by travelers. Good people who deserved the change of clothes in her bag and the weasel she and her sister had caught. Thinking about a hungry family finding her things was more pleasant than imagining that it was picked up by bandits, which was much more likely. In the new world, the bad people far outnumbered the good.

Their new bag held two bottles of water, and Amelia and Clem's combined share of what food the group had left: a bruised green apple and a vanilla protein bar. She'd tucked the gun into the waist of her jeans. The group had found her a full magazine in their ammo supply, and Carlos had given it to her with a warning that it was the only one they could spare.

Clementine fell back to walk with Sarah. Amelia was proud of her for it; the girl was still shaken by Carver's visit. She stared at the ground as she walked, without responding to much. Clementine would ask her how she was doing, what she was thinking about, and was lucky if she got a nod in response. All of this from seeing a man who didn't even see her. It made Amelia think of questions about him that she didn't necessarily want answered.

She heard Clementine start another one-sided conversation with Sarah, and took advantage of the newfound space. She turned to Luke as they walked. She had a question for him, and she asked it quietly, not wanting it to become the start of a group discussion.

"Why did you leave Carver's camp?"

"Tell me again how far we are?" Luke asked, looking straight ahead and picking up his pace. Amelia started taking bigger steps to keep up with him.

"Less than five minutes. Why did you leave?"

"Look…I just…" he seemed frustrated. He focused on the path in front of them; Amelia could see him trying not to stare at the walkers scattered across the ground. "I can't get into it just now, alright? You sure we're headed in the right direction?"

"Positive." The area around them looked far too familiar to her. Brighter. Quieter. The sky wasn't as pretty. But it was the same place. After the events of that morning, she'd have been able to pick it out anywhere.

"Amelia." He said, something different in his voice. Her first thought was that he didn't believe her, that he'd heard sarcasm in her answer that wasn't there, or at least that she hadn't meant to put there. She looked at him, about to insist that she meant it, that she had her…issues but she wouldn't be insincere to him. Not right now. "Be honest with me."

 _I am._ "I…"

"What…what kind of shape was Nick in when you got separated? Did it look like he might be okay?"

This kind of thinking was useless-

 _-that's funny, you do it all the time-_

Whether Nick was alive or dead, it was already done. It occurred to her that she might've been telling herself that because she felt guilty – or was guilty, it had become hard to tell the two apart – and wanted to avoid answering for her own reasons. For herself. She thought about lying to him but couldn't bring herself to do it. False hope was tempting, and deceptive. It made it easy for Amelia to feel like she was doing the right thing. At the time.

Luke's face fell into an expression she could only call heartbroken. It was a look she didn't like seeing on him. "It's alright." He looked back to the path. "You hesitated too long for the answer to be anything good."

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever we find, I want you to know I don't blame you for what happened."

 _Even if it was my fault?_ She avoided meeting his eyes and immediately kicked herself. _Act guiltier, idiot._

Luke shook his head, and for a moment she wondered if it was at her. "The, uh…the stuff with Carver. It's complicated. And it ain't completely my business to tell."

Clementine spoke up from directly behind Amelia, where she'd crept up with footsteps so light her sister hadn't heard a thing. "What are you guys talking about?" She looked between the two of them, blinking with wide amber eyes that suggested she had no idea what she'd just done, when Amelia knew she was much, much smarter than that.

Crap.

Amelia cleared her throat, then regretted it. It was something she did when she was stalling, and Clementine knew it.

"You're talking about Carver, aren't you?" She raised an eyebrow at them, unsmiling.

Amelia waited for Luke to say something. He didn't offer an answer. More than that, he didn't seem to be looking for one. This one was on her.

Amelia tried to avoid lying to her sister whenever she could. She'd decided long before that if she started lying to Clementine when she was too young to know, it wouldn't be long before she was old enough to know every time. The two of them didn't have much. If they couldn't trust each other, they wouldn't have anything at all.

"Yes. But…"

"Did you wait until I couldn't hear you on purpose?"

"…yes."

Clem got a look on her face that was as unwelcome to Amelia as it was familiar. "I'm not a little kid, Amelia. You don't have to hide things from me. Why don't you just let me help-"

Luke stopped short and put a hand out – it was so abrupt that Amelia walked into his outstretched arm – stopping Clementine, and in succession the rest of the group. He pointed out to the shed, just a short distance off the path.

"There."

A small group of walkers lingered around the doors, which as far as Amelia could see, were closed. _Nick could have made it back inside_. She hoped he did, but by now knew the dangers of letting her hopes get too high.

Amelia was about to direct the others to stay back. They didn't need the entire group getting into the scuffle. That would turn into a mess, quickly.

"Stay-"

"Nobody move," Luke raised his voice just enough to carry to Rebecca and Alvin in the back. It was fine by her. The leadership role was a problem more than a job. More trouble than it was worth, every time. She was relieved it hadn't fallen to her by default. For her own sake and the others'.

Carlos put a protective arm around Sarah, who still watched the ground, digging the heel of her shoe into the dirt. She didn't look like she'd noticed the walkers yet, and Amelia knew as well as everyone else did that it was a good thing. And that it would be even better to keep it that way.

"You can handle this?" Carlos asked carefully.

Amelia didn't answer because she assumed he was talking only to Luke. He nodded to the stragglers and asked her in a low voice,

"What do you think? I'd rather not use the guns. If there are any more close by, it'll draw'em out."

Carlos had been talking to both of them, she realized. She looked to the shed and counted the bodies. Three, hovering around the shed doors. Maybe one or two in the brush surrounding the shed, but she wouldn't have to worry about them if she handled this quietly.

She drew Hilda from her back and took three steps into the clearing before Luke caught her by the arm.

" _where do you think you're going-"_

" _-you get the fuck back here-"_

" _-stop fighting-"_

She stopped short, pulling her elbow out of his grip as she turned around abruptly. She could've sworn they'd already done this once.

She bit the word out like it tasted as bitter as it sounded. " _What?_ "

"What are you doing?"

Amelia frowned and studied his face. Her irritation gave way to genuine confusion. _What do you mean, "what am I doing?"_

"What you just asked me to do…?" she said slowly, trying to figure out what she'd missed, what it was she wasn't understanding. Carlos had made himself pretty clear.

"Um…" Clementine spoke slowly. Amelia could tell when her sister's words were more directed at her than at anyone else. "Maybe it would be safer if more than one person goes?"

Amelia shifted her stance, and crossed her arms. "Oh." Safer…probably not. Faster, maybe. "Um. Sure." She looked back to Luke and nodded toward the shed. "I'll go left." She moved toward the doors, steering away from the cluster of three to flank the walkers from the left. It didn't occur to her to wait for confirmation that Luke understood until she was already there.

She whistled, and all three of them turned to look in her direction. They started toward her in a dragging shuffle that seemed menacing when she'd been surrounded by them. Now, her people outnumbered them, and the sluggish way they moved only made her impatient.

She closed the gap between them and took one swing, then another. The first struck one across the forehead and knocked it back without killing it. The second hit another and pierced it through the temple, taking splash of blood and brain matter with it as the pulled the blade out of its head. She could see Luke through the bodies; he came at them from the other side, machete in hand, and brought the blade down onto the third walker's head hard enough to split its skull down the middle. Amelia took another swing, one with too much force and not enough precision, and caught the last one in the mouth. The blade lodged itself behind its jaw, and Amelia cursed internally when she found she couldn't pull it out.

 _Damn it,_ she thought, trying to pull it loose while the corpse reached for her. _Too low for the brain._

Luke finished it for her, hitting it upside the head with enough force to shatter its skull and break Hilda free.

"Thanks," she muttered, swinging her ice pick toward the ground and flinging blood into the grass.

She expected him to say something consistent with his usual manner. Something friendly and modest. A _no problem_ or _don't mention it_ delivered with a charming Southern lilt. She didn't expect him to look – and sound – irritated with her.

"Didn't know you were just gonna run up on 'em like that,"

"I said, I'll go left." That meant he was supposed to go right. He'd obviously understood, since he did it.

His frown deepened. "That doesn't mean-" He stopped himself, looking to the ground and shaking his head. "Forget it." He headed for the shed without putting his weapon away. Amelia followed him to the doors, knowing without looking that Clementine was close behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see that she was right, and gestured to Clem to take a step back, which she did.

Luke pushed the doors open easily – they glided across the wood floors with a light creak – showing everyone immediately that they hadn't been barricaded from the inside.

"Oh, no…" he muttered.

The stench of death rolled out and hit them. It was enough to make Luke recoil and Amelia cover her face with her sleeve. She could see the walker she'd…disemboweled, laying right where she'd left it, and hoped it was the only source of the smell. They stared into the shed for a silent count of five; nothing and no one inside moved, making them think it was empty until a single walker stirred somewhere on the floor inside. It was tangled in the mess of trash bags and empty jars Nick had slept in the night before. It sent jars rolling here and there across the floor as it lumbered to its feet. The way it wheezed and growled assured them it was unmistakably dead. They waited for it to stand, to turn around and show its face, to show them if their fears were true, and when it did…

It wasn't Nick.

It had once been a woman, wearing a filthy pink blouse. But it certainly wasn't Nick.

It started toward them. Amelia kicked an empty crate into its legs, tripping it. It hit the floor, and Luke stepped into the shed and put it down with a single blow to the head.

He straightened up and didn't waste any time asking questions, scanning the shed wall-to-wall when he already knew it was empty.

"He's not here," he turned around, desperate enough to look to Amelia for an explanation everyone here knew she didn't have. "He's not on the path between here and the house. It doesn't make any sense. Why would he go anywhere else?"

Amelia didn't have anything to say. She couldn't think of anything to tell him that would make the situation better.

She could think of plenty of things to say to make it worse.

Luke swore. Then ran a hand through his hair and swore again. "This was it. He was supposed to be here. Why isn't he…" He left the shed, looking around as if Nick was going to come wandering out of the trees at any second.

"Luke." Amelia got his attention. "This is good. I don't see his body. That means he got away."

 _Or it means he turned and walked away with the herd._

 _Shut. The fuck. Up._

She didn't have any patience for her inner pessimist. Not today. Not when Luke was two steps away from a tragedy he might never recover from. She'd seen it happen over, and over, and over. And she never once met anyone who came back from it, at least not completely.

Luke thought about what this meant, putting his machete away in the sheath on his back. "Alright…alright, say he's alive. How the hell are we going to find him?"

The rest of the group continued to hang back, except Carlos, who came forward to join them. "What's going on? We don't have time to wait around here."

"Nick should've been here." Luke told him. "But he can't have gotten far."

"You know we can't stay here, Luke. We are not safe out here."

"I do, and we'll move out as soon as we can."

"'Soon' isn't good enough," Carlos said. "Carver's men are not far behind us. We're all in danger as long as we are not moving."

"I understand, Carlos. Believe me, I do, but we can't just leave him!"

Amelia knew that wasn't going to get him anywhere. Not with Carlos. He had a daughter. She wasn't sure what the rest of the group thought that meant. But to Carlos, it meant there was one person in the group who was miles more important to him than anyone else. He would've abandoned the entire group to keep her safe, let alone one person.

 _You should know._

She could see Luke losing his patience. Fitting, since Carlos' was long gone, far before this argument had started. "If we just take a few minutes to look for him-"

"It will not be a few minutes!" Carlos raised his voice. To his credit, if Luke was intimidated by it, it didn't show on his face. "It will be a waste of time we do not have!"

Clementine approached the three of them, and her voice was so small when she said, "Hey, I…" that almost no one heard her, and Luke and Carlos continued to talk over her.

"This isn't how we do things, Carlos. We stick together."

"We will not sacrifice the entire group for one man."

"No one's sayin' anything about sacrifices!" Luke turned to Amelia. "What do you think?"

And there she was again, frozen, wide-eyed, and staring down headlights that always had a way of sneaking up on her. She knew the dangers of taking sides, even – especially – when she was asked to. She'd watched enough fighting between people whose names pained her to think about-

 _-or made her angry, very, very fucking angry-_

-to know that these arguments were all the same. Different fights between different people, all with the same script.

And, in all likelihood, the same ending.

She glared back at the both of them in silence long enough for them to know they weren't getting an answer from her. Truthfully, she didn't think either one of them was completely wrong. Of course, she'd never say that, either. Taking the middle was just as dangerous. Once upon a time, she'd tried. She'd thought she'd found a safe option, a way to skirt responsibility, when dodging blame was and always had been a game no one ever won.

 _No one likes a tie-breaker who can't handle the job._

"Guys," Clementine spoke up, more insistent now. "I think-"

Carlos had lowered his voice, which to Amelia was much more intimidating than his yelling. Shouting was easy. Speaking calmly despite intense anger was more difficult to do, and more rare to see.

"I won't have this, Luke." He said. He turned away from him and look a long breath before speaking again. "I'm sorry. But the group is moving on, whether or not you stay with us."

Luke's eyes went wide in disbelief, then narrowed again in anger. "You can't be serious."

"What?" Clementine said, loud enough to be heard this time. "You can't do that, Carlos!"

Luke looked past Carlos to Alvin and Rebecca, knowing they were listening despite their distance from the shed. "And what about you? Y'all are okay with this?"

Rebecca looked up at her husband, then back to Luke with pity on her face when Amelia expected cold indifference. "Luke…he found the cabin. He found us. We can't…" She didn't finish, and Alvin put a hand to her back.

"I'm sorry, man. I really am, but you know what we have to do."

"I can't believe this," Luke crossed his arms. "After all this time, everything he's done for you, you're just gonna hang him out?" Amelia could hear his voice rising, and she stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. She could see him digging his own grave, making it worse with every word, and she wasn't trying to comfort him so much as trying to make him _stop talking._ "He doesn't deserve-"

She squeezed, and wasn't gentle about it. _Please. Shut. Up._ He cut himself short, and when he looked at her she could see the anxiety, the fear, the crippling worry, buried somewhere beneath the anger. His eyes could've given Clementine a run for her money; they were too big and too brown and when he was upset they made him look like a puppy someone had kicked. She resented the way it tugged at her heart to see him like this, when he had treated her so kindly despite all the reasons she gave him not to. More than that, he'd been nothing but wonderful to her sister, which to Amelia said more about him than he realized.

"Carlos," she said carefully, walking toward him. "Just hear me out."

Scolding them over this wouldn't shame them into doing the right thing. It would only make them feel guilty and defensive. They already knew Nick deserved better. They already knew this was wrong. And they were doing it anyway for entirely different reasons. His group was afraid, and trying to protect people they loved, and those two things in combination could get a person to do much worse than leave a friend behind. Especially when there was a good chance that friend was already dead.

She doubted she would be able to get Carlos to listen, but small hope was better than none at all.

"I know all you want is to keep Sarah safe. Everyone here wants that. But the most safety any of us can have is in numbers."

Carlos watched her stoically, arms crossed.

"If you leave now, my guess is Luke is going to stay and look for Nick. And then Clementine is going to follow him, and I go where she goes. You would be down to four people."

He seemed to take this differently than she'd meant it, and he frowned disapprovingly. "This isn't a negotiation, Amelia."

"I'm not trying to make threats." She insisted. "It's what will happen if you don't let us look for Nick. I don't want it to, but it will."

Carlos looked over Amelia's head to Luke, waiting for him to disagree. He didn't, which told Carlos all he needed to know. He turned and looked back at Alvin and Rebecca, who didn't offer anything to disagree, and at Sarah, who still stared at the ground, hugging herself. Amelia knew he was at least considering it, even if he didn't look like it.

She waited, and the amount of time Carlos took to speak gave her the answer in itself.

Maybe _a 'please' will help._

 _Shush._

He shook his head, the look on his face making it clear he knew he was cutting his group in half and it was something he took no pleasure in doing. "We are not safe out here. I'm sorry. We don't have any other choice."

Clementine stepped it, raising her voice above the level she was comfortable talking. For a moment she was the loudest person in the conversation, and Amelia knew she hated that. "If we know where he is now, will you come with us to go get him?"

All eyes were on Clementine.

"Clem…" Amelia asked carefully. "How could you know where he is?"

* * *

"Through here," Clementine called back, though her voice didn't quite carry to everyone in the group. Really, it didn't reach past Amelia and Luke, who covered her right and left sides while they pushed through the woods.

They'd crossed the river a few minutes ago. They led the group to wade knee-deep through the water to the other side, where Amelia had watched Pete get bitten, and then watched her sister leave with him. The bodies were still there. Amelia didn't know why she hadn't expected them to be. She was thrown off, seeing them again, stepping over them. Carlos did his best to keep Sarah from looking at them. There were dozens, and it was easier said than done.

Amelia and Luke had been pushing ahead of the group, killing walkers as they appeared, but they were few and far between. Carlos and Sarah followed, leading the way for Alvin and Rebecca. The group had taken a sharp turn and cut further into the woods, away from the cabin but in the opposite of the direction they'd wanted to go. The detour was going on thirty minutes now, and from the look on Carlos' face, he was about to draw a line and insist they get back on the planned route.

Luke knew this. He picked up his pace and walked ahead of Clementine, scanning the trees and looking for the truck she'd said would be here.

When it came into view between the trees, he broke into a sprint. He covered ground fast, and Amelia jogged to catch up with him while trying not to get too far ahead of Clementine. The three of them had left the rest of the group further back, and she wasn't about to leave Clementine alone in an open space. She slowed to a stop by the truck's front bumper, after Luke had disappeared around the other side. He was somewhere around the truck's rear doors, and she expected to see him come back any moment, shaking his head because there was nothing and no one inside.

She hoped. If Pete and Clementine had hidden out here for the night, there was a chance he was still here. And she hoped, for Clementine, for everyone's sake, that he wasn't.

She turned to Clem, who'd stopped by her side and waited nervously with crossed arms.

"Should we…go over there?"

Amelia shook her head, looking to the back of the truck and trying to think. "Look, Clem," she said gently, turning to her sister. "There's a chance we're going to find…" She trailed off when Clementine widened her eyes, blinking. She opened her mouth to say something, and Amelia was happy to stop talking and let her. She never liked breaking bad news to her. "What is it?"

"I think Luke just called you,"

Amelia frowned, confused. "I didn't hear-"

" _Amelia!_ "

It was loud and sudden enough to make her jump, her heart pounding in alarm because hearing anyone scream anything was never good. The fact that it was her name only made it worse. When the screaming was directed at her, something was either her fault or her responsibility to fix. The former happened more often than the latter, but both terrified her equally.

She rushed to the rear of the truck, imagining the worst, prepared for blood and mangled bodies and agony of every kind, hoping that having all of these things in mind would mean whatever she was about to see wasn't nearly as bad as she was expecting.

She caught up to Luke and saw what he was looking at, and remembered that expecting the worst and preparing for it were very different things.

The blood covered the entire floor of the truck bed, in a gargantuan puddle that was at least half an inch thick. It ran down in a thin, steady drip over the bumper, pooling in a puddle that was sinking into the grass by the left rear tire. She smelled rust and rotting flesh and in the seconds she had to take it all in, she found herself staring at the blood, and not at Nick. He was on his knees in the truck bed, blood covering his arms up to the elbow and soaked into his pants up to his thighs, hovering over his uncle while he did frantic, arrhythmic chest compressions but there was just _so much blood…_

"Get Carlos," Luke couldn't hide the way his voice was shaking, and Amelia worried that if she tried to speak hers would do the same thing.

Clementine caught up with them and gasped, her voice small and terrified in a way Amelia hadn't heard from her since she was eight years old. "Oh my God…"

" _Get Carlos,_ " Luke ordered again, to no on in particular.

Amelia looked to her sister. "G-go. Now."

Clem immediately turned around and took off in the direction the group had come. Amelia could see them, just now coming into view on the other side of the clearing. She was trying to gauge how far they were when Nick spoke, acknowledging they were here for the first time.

"Somebody fucking help me!"

"We're right here. Hold on, it's gonna be…" Luke climbed into the truck, and after kneeling on Pete's other side he was already near-covered in his blood. "…it's gonna be fine…" He looked up at Amelia, and whether or not he was trying to send her a message by trailing off and freezing with his blood-stained hands over Pete's body, she saw it and understood.

He had no idea what to do, and apparently hoped she did.

He was going to be disappointed.

She dropped Hilda and her backpack into the grass and climbed in. "Move," she said quietly, almost at a whisper, taking Luke's place when he slid out of the way.

Fuck. She tried to remember something, _anything_ from the first and only CPR class she'd ever taken. Nick was in front of her, pressing hard into Pete's chest and she didn't think he was doing it right but she couldn't remember how it was done and his blood was _fucking everywhere,_ she didn't know this much blood could come from one person…

Her eyes trailed down to his legs, and she had to look twice, three times to understand what she was seeing. One of this legs ended just below the knee, wrapped in a wet, dark red cloth that had once been the white thermal Nick wore under his T-shirt.

It was gone. Missing.

"Amelia,"

This from Luke, who crouched behind her and watched her and Nick prepare to attempt something that was beyond them. Way out of their league and far over their heads.

"Uh…" Amelia stuttered. _Shit. Say something. Make a choice._ It was too crowded in the bed of the truck. Not because of the people in it, but because it was loaded with whatever crap the truck had been transporting before it broke down. "Get those boxes out of here. Carlos is going to need the room." She thought he might question it, but Luke immediately started pushing stacked cardboard boxes out of the truck. They tumbled over the bumper, their contents spilling out onto the ground.

Getting words out seemed to make more come easier, even just in her head. She could hear herself think and she remembered an acronym, that stupid fucking memory tool they'd used to teach her basic emergency response. ABC's, right…? _Fuck._

She reached down with both hands, gently gripped Pete's head just under his jaw, and tilted his head up. _A_ stood for _airway…_ she wasn't even sure.

"Clear the…airway…" she muttered to herself, hoping the rest would come back to her.

Nick looked up at her, eyes wide and bloodshot, and his voice shook through his compressions as he said, "You know how to do this?"

 _B_ stood for _breathing…_ wait. That wasn't right. _Airway_ and _breathing_ sounded like the same thing. _Shit…_

Hands still under Pete's jaw, she felt something jump beneath her index finger. She realized her fingertips were right over the giant artery in his neck.

"Stop," she put a hand on Nick's arm, and he ignored her. "You can stop, Nick, _you can stop._ He has a pulse."

"No, I can't," Nick shook his head, and if anything he started pressing faster. "He doesn't…if-if I stop he'll…"

Luke gripped Nick by the arms, restraining him and making it harder for him to keep the chest compressions going. "Nick, listen, _listen-"_

"He's fucking dying, man!" Nick tried to shout at him but his voice cracked somewhere in the middle of his sentence, and everything that came out after was barely more than a whisper. "I can't stop, I can't…he can't die, Luke, he-he…"

"Nobody's gonna die, but you need to _calm down,_ " Luke gripped his arms tighter and gave him a light shake. "Let us help him, alright?"

Nick stopped, and Amelia couldn't tell whether Luke's words had convinced him, or Nick had just given up on what little hope he had left. He slowly took his hands off of Pete's chest. From the way his shoulders sank and he hung his head, she was inclined to think it was the latter.

Amelia felt again along Pete's neck, hoping she hadn't been wrong when she'd thought she felt something. There it was again. It was weak, but it was there, steady and repetitive. She moved her hand so it hovered over his mouth, waiting to feel-

"Look," she said to Nick, who slowly lifted his head to look at her. "He's breathing." She took one of Nick's hands and placed his palm flat on Pete's chest. "His heard is beating."

"Why won't he wake up?"

The next thing Amelia heard was a familiar voice, deep and severe, and it couldn't have made her feel more relieved.

"Get out of the way," Carlos said as he climbed into the truck. Amelia and Luke moved, pressing themselves against the wall and trying not to take up space Carlos would need to word. Nick didn't move, and Amelia got the feeling even Carlos hadn't expected him to.

Amelia expected him to ask questions. She was already scrambling for answers, trying to come up with the right ones but Carlos only rolled his sleeves up over his forearms. He put two fingers under Pete's jaw, and when he found the pulse he held them there and looked down to his watch.

If he was shaken by the amount of blood, by Pete's missing limb, by the disturbing pale-grey shade of his skin, he didn't show it in the slightest. "Why did he do this?" he demanded, specifically from Nick. It seemed like he already knew. But Amelia understood why he wanted to hear it.

"H-he got bit,"

He lowered his watch and looked up. "When? Tell me when it happened."

Nick didn't answer, and while only he and Amelia knew why, Carlos had no patience for the delay.

" _Nick,_ "

"Yesterday. Yesterday morning. But he did this because…you have to help him," Nick pleaded. "Please, Carlos,"

Whatever went through his mind, Carlos made the decision quickly. He looked back to Pete, "How long has be been like this?"

"I don't know." Nick wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. "I-I don't know, I found him like this,"

"How long ago?"

"Half an hour? Fuck, I don't know. I'm sorry,"

Carlos didn't acknowledge the apology. He seemed to have stopped listening after he'd gotten an answer. He tilted Pete's head back again, clearing his airway, and without words or warning or hesitation he raised a fist and brought it down hard onto the center of Pete's chest.

Pete's eyes were open instantly, the shock forcing him to inhale hard and fast. His breath was forced and ragged and he spit it back out in a violent coughing fit. He tried to sit up, as he hacked through the stubborn breath sticking in his lungs, and Nick tried to hold him down.

" _Holy shit-!_ Uncle Pete," he said, knowing as well as everyone else that Pete wasn't listening to a word he said. "Uncle Pete, just-"

"Shit…" Pete muttered, coughing through the last of whatever was keeping him from breathing. Even when he did, his breathing was…wrong. Sometimes it was too shallow and sometimes it was too deep, and it was never in a consistent rhythm. "Nick?"

"Yeah, I'm right here." Nick told him. "You're gonna be fine,"

"Don't lie to me, boy," Pete grunted, unable to catch his breath. He lifted his head, getting a brief, limited glimpse around the truck. "S'that Luke?"

"Right here, Pete," Luke said, despite being on the other end of the truck and knowing Pete couldn't see him well. "We're gonna help you, alright?"

"You can try-" he lapsed into another coughing fit. "Carlos…"

"Try not to move," Carlos told him. He'd moved on to assessing the damage to his leg. He started working out the knot Nick had tied in his sleeves, to keep the shirt wrapped around…

The stump. Amelia had been staring at it for the slowest two minutes of her life, and still couldn't wrap her mind around it. It was a stump. Pete's leg was gone because he'd cut through it, through the muscle and bone and blood vessels with the bloodied handsaw sitting in the corner, not five feet from her at the moment.

Carlos nodded to the belt that had been tied around Pete's lower leg, tightened around his calf to lessen the bleeding. Not that it was doing much. "Move that. It should be higher. Above the knee." Nick fumbled with the knot in the leather. His fingers were slick with blood and they kept slipping while he cursed under his breath.

"I, uh…" Pete winced, his entire body flinching as Carlos pulled the shirt from his leg and set it aside. "I fucked this one up pretty good, didn't I?"

"I'm going to do everything I can, Pete."

"That's what you say to people who are about to die, isn't it?"

Amelia wondered how Carlos kept his head clear. There was urgency in his eyes, even fear, if she looked closely. But none of it forced him to shut down. If anything, it made him faster, more alert, more decisive. She wondered if his years as a surgeon made him this way, or if people who were born this way decided to become surgeons.

Though the real question she wanted to ask was how she could do the same.

"Amelia," he said abruptly, giving her a sudden, irrational fear that he knew what she'd been thinking. "Get out of the truck."

She didn't understand. She was torn between her insistence on being there to help and the sheer terror that pulsed through her heart at the thought of arguing with him, now of all times. Before she had to make the decision, he said,

"Hand my medical bag in to Luke. I need you to start a campfire. Tell Rebecca and Alvin to watch for lurkers, and keep Sarah away from the truck." He raised his voice when he didn't get an answer; Amelia realized she'd been nodding silently, which he hadn't seen because he was busy trying to control the damage to Pete's mutilated leg. "Can you do that? Tell me you understand."

 _A campfire?_

"Yes-" Amelia cleared her throat when the word came out pathetic and small. "Yes. I-I can…" she trailed off, making her way out of the truck, sliding her way past Nick and creating ripples in the puddle of blood they all sat in. "I can do that…" By the time she got the full sentence out, she was outside, blood soaked into her socks and dripping from her fingertips while she blinked in the sunlight and breathed air that didn't reek of iron. She joined Alvin, Clementine, and Sarah on the outside, and looked across each of their faces without really seeing them.

She looked over both shoulders, then turned around, looking for a bag that wasn't there. "The bag…?" She muttered, looking at Alvin, who she already knew was only carrying his and Rebecca's. "Where is-?"

"Here," Rebecca said from behind her, handing her a duffel bag that, Amelia found when she took it, was much heavier than it looked.

She gripped the handles with both hands and hoisted it up to her chest to hold it from the bottom. "Watch the trees…? And Sarah,"

"We heard," Rebecca turned her around to face the truck again. "We've got it. Don't worry."

Luke was waiting with a hand out for the bag when she got there; she pushed it up into his arms and turned around without waiting to see what they'd do with it.

 _A fire._ _Something to burn, something to light it with. I can do that._ She jogged away from the truck – what she hoped was a safe distance – to an area of the clearing where the brush was dry and the ground was hard-packed dirt. She knelt down and used her hands to claw leaves away from the ground, trying to clear a space to start a fire that wouldn't spread out of control.

Another pair of hands joined hers in raking leaves and pine needles out of the way.

"Why did he tell you to start a fire?" Clementine asked her, looking over her shoulder to the truck. Amelia thought she knew. But she was still holding out, waiting for Carlos to tell her it was for something else. "Amelia?"

She shook her head, throwing leaves out of the way until they were sitting in a large clearing of dirt and pebbles. "Let's not…I need you to get me firewood. Sticks, tree branches, anything."

Clementine nodded, and was on her feet, beelining for the trees before Amelia was finished.

"Watch for walkers!" she called after her.

Amelia stood up. She looked around herself, at the dozens of rocks scattered around the clearing and started picking them up, gathering them into a large armful. Out of nowhere, Pete screamed, and it scared her enough to make her jump and drop every one of them.

While she gathered them back up, she heard Nick stammer an apology and Luke say something generic and reassuring, maybe telling Pete he was going to be alright…she didn't know. She heard Carlos' voice fading in and out, the truck being too far for her to hear every word. "No more, no less…" he said. Nick said something that was meant to reassure either Pete or himself. "Going to be okay…" Luke cursed and apologized three times in a row.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _shit_ – I'm sorry, hold on,"

Looking over her shoulder, she saw him lean across the truck bed, reaching for something small that had fallen and landed in the blood. He picked it up, and Amelia realized it was a glass vial of medication when Luke stuck a syringe into the top and held it up to his eye level, trying to draw out a precise amount.

She'd just finished arranging the rocks into a circle when Clementine came back, stumbling as she approached Amelia and throwing and armful of knotted sticks onto the ground in front of her.

"Sorry," she said, hands on her knees and out of breath.

Amelia didn't answer. She bit into her shirt sleeve, into a small hole that she'd had for a long time, and tearing it until the fabric hung off in shreds. She ripped it from her shirt completely, wadding it up in her hands while Clementine arranged and rearranged the wood in the circle, no doubt trying to find something, anything to do to help.

Amelia took the lighter from her pocket, the one she'd stolen from the man at the river-

 _-is it stealing if he's dead-_

-and lit the fabric in her hands. She carefully slid it under the wood, trying not to listen to every word coming from the truck. She waited for the fire to catch, and once it was big enough she threw a handful of leaves and pine needles over it. She looked around and noticed Alvin, hunting rifle in hand, standing with his back to her while he watched the trees. She had to look a little harder for Rebecca, who'd taken Sarah and the other rifle away from the clearing, still within shouting distance but nowhere near the disaster they were trying to fix.

 _Can this even be fixed?_

Amelia sat back on her knees and splayed her hands out, palms down on her legs. She felt like there was more she should've been doing. She got up and turned around, and muttered to Clementine,

"Keep an eye on the fire. I'm going…" but trailed off when she saw Luke, getting out of the truck bed and walking toward them with purpose…and his machete drawn. She tensed up at the sight, and knew what he was going to do with it the moment she saw it. He had his weapon in one hand and Nick's once-white shirt in the other. He used it to wipe the machete from the handle to the tip of the blade, leaving it streaked with blood that pooled in little red drops but otherwise clean.

He didn't speak to Amelia or Clementine as he stopped, laid his machete on the ground, and slid it into the fire until half the blade was submerged in the flame. And he left it there.

The pit of Amelia's stomach ran cold. Luke looked over at her in a way that said he felt the same. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, bending them back with his other hand until they cracked loudly. He took a deep, uneven breath before he stood upright.

"Come on. We have to…" He shook his head, and headed back for the truck. "Just come on."

Amelia ordered herself to breathe, and think, and do something other than freeze. She shook her head and looked back to Clementine. "Keep it lit." She tossed her lighter, which Clem caught in the air, sandwiching it between her palms. Amelia followed Luke to the truck before her sister could ask her any questions that would force her to lie.

Nick was upset – angry, even – when they got there. Pete was unconscious again, and Nick hovered over him protectively. He raised his voice, panic and desperation making his tone sharp, as she she knew it was prone to do with her. "I don't-fuck, _fuck,_ I don't know,"

Carlos wasn't deterred by the volume, or the aggressive tone. "I need you to think, Nick. Try to remember." He'd fashioned something familiar out of a long piece of cloth, wrapped around Pete's severed limb and twisted around a short wooden stick. The more he turned the tick and twisted the fabric, the more it constricted Pete's leg. Amelia had forgotten the word for it, and was trying to remember but was distracted by the deep shade of purple Pete's lower leg had turned.

"I…I have no idea," Nick looked to Luke, who'd picked up Pete's leg and holding it up, keeping it elevated. "Luke?"

He shook his head, eyes wide and sympathetic. "I'm sorry, I got no idea…I don't even know my own…"

"Try to remember something. Anything." Carlos said, still calm for reasons Amelia didn't understand but envied all the same.

"I don't…" Nick tightened his fists in frustration. "I don't think I ever knew it in the first place. I'm a blood relative. Isn't there a good chance…?"

"It's not guaranteed. We can't just take a guess." Carlos answered. "The wrong type will clot in his veins and kill him."

"He's already dying! We have to try _something!_ "

"Amelia," Luke shifted his grip, pushing Pete's leg up higher. "What's your blood type?"

"B-negative," she answered, knowing it wouldn't be any help if they didn't know Pete's.

A tourniquet. That was it. She watched Carlos tighten it and remembered hearing something about tourniquets being dangerous. That they stop bleeding but there was a chance of…

Losing the limb.

Yes, that was it. A last resort. _Sacrifice the limb so you don't bleed to death._

"Carlos, _please,_ " Nick urged. "There's got to be something you can do,"

But Amelia knew there wasn't. If they didn't know Pete's blood type, no one there could give him back any of the blood he'd lost, not unless one of them was the universal…

"Clementine…" Amelia turned to call over her shoulder. " _Clementine!_ "

She heard and came running, and Amelia knelt down to meet her, and talk to her and her level. She lowered her voice, knowing the others had already guessed why she'd called her over but hoped she could at least make Clem feel like this conversation was between them. She didn't want to put any pressure on her, even though she knew her sister was already under so much pressure she likely already felt that she wouldn't have a choice.

"Pete needs blood. You're O-negative."

Clementine blinked, looking nervously around the truck bed, from Carlos to Luke to Pete's dying limb.

"I'm sorry," Amelia told her, hoping the way she was rushing though her words didn't make Clem feel they were insincere. "I don't want to put you on the spot, but…I would do it but I'm not-"

"I can do it," she said quietly.

"Clem," Amelia didn't get to finish her warning before Carlos gave her one of his own, one she hoped her sister would take seriously.

"Are you sure about this, Clementine?"

She nodded, and this time when she spoke it was louder, and more sure. "I can handle it." Before Amelia could ask her again, and a third time and a fourth, she was climbing into the truck bed, taking Luke's hand as he helped her up.

Amelia followed her, struck again with a sense of dread so familiar she should've given it a name by now. She slid her way past Luke and Carlos trying not to disturb either of them, to be next to Clem as if she could do something to help if…if it went wrong.

"Take this," Carlos gestured for Amelia to take the tourniquet. Moments after he handed it to her his hands disappeared into the duffel bag, returning with medical tubing, cased needles, and an empty IV bag. His hands worked quickly, gently uncoiling the tubing and handing the rest of the supplies to Clementine to keep them off of the floor. "Hold these..." He looked over to Pete, who'd gone from grey to pale since he'd last been awake. "…roll up your sleeve."

Clementine did, and Amelia knew the worried look in her eyes and the nervous way she curled her lip couldn't have been obvious only to her. Amelia watched, just as nervous as her sister, while Carlos ran one end of the tubing through the IV bag and the other into a needle so wide she could see inside it.

She didn't know much about blood transfusions, or the dangers involved. She knew Clementine could die, worst came to worst, if he took too much. If it came to that, she'd rip the needle out herself. But a part of her had already decided she wouldn't have to, that she could trust Carlos not to do anything that would hurt her.

She was watching, and she'd be there if he did.

He wrapped a long piece of cloth around her upper arm, bunching both ends in his fists and pulling it tight until Clementine objected.

"That's…that's really tight,"

"It has to be. I'm sorry, Clementine, but this is going to be uncomfortable," he told her as he pulled the cloth tighter and knotted it twice.

"Is it going to hurt?"

Carlos was honest with her, and while Amelia expected nothing less from him, she'd have preferred that he lied. "Yes, a little. I'll try to make it as quick as possible."

"Clem, are you okay?" Amelia asked, keeping both hands on the tourniquet despite wanting to reach for her sister's hand. Clementine only nodded, staring down at her inner elbow while Carlos sanitized it with a packaged alcohol wipe.

"Relax your arm." He moved her arm until it was resting face-up in her lap. "It's very important that you stay relaxed, and don't move."

"Okay…" Clementine stared at the needle between his fingers, curling her other hand into a tight fist and…Amelia had seen her look like that before. She was holding her breath.

She let go of the tourniquet with one hand and put it over her other arm. "Breathe, Clem. You have to breathe."

She let out a long breath, nodding and staring at the needle getting closer and closer to her vein.

A second before it pierced her skin she looked over in Amelia's direction, who was surprised – stunned, really – at the name that came out of her mouth.

"Luke…?" she squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a squeak while Carlos pushed the needle deeper into her arm.

"I'm right here, Clementine," he said. "It's-"

"Ow!" She cringed, and other hand started to shake when Carlos adjusted the needle, tilting it one way, then the other because no blood was coming out.

Amelia tried to reach for her again, but the tourniquet started to come undone in her hands and she had to use both to tighten it again. "Clementine-" She stopped when her sister made a sound, a half-sob that Amelia had heard before, and knew it meant she was about to cry.

Amelia looked to Luke. "Here. Let me…" She slipped a hand underneath what was left of Pete's calf, holding his leg with one hand and the tourniquet in the other. "Go." She nodded toward Clementine and Carlos. "Please,"

Luke moved without hesitating, making his way around her and over to Clementine with soft, reassuring words. "Hey, hey, Clem, you're alright…"

"Elevate the leg," Carlos said.

Amelia noticed Clem reach for Luke's hand, and started trying to remember the last time Clementine had held her hand. It took conscious effort not to pay attention to it-

" _Amelia,_ " Carlos pulled her attention elsewhere. "Elevate the leg." She realized what she'd been doing and lifted Pete's leg, hoping she hadn't made a mistake that would kill him.

 _It's going to take more than that to kill him. And it's going to take a hell of a lot more than this to save him._

If he could be saved. Amelia had heard talk of cutting off limbs, to keep the infection from spreading. She didn't know how valid it was. No one did. For all any of them knew it was horseshit, meaning Pete had only made his own death longer and more painful.

"See? Look at that. It's working." Luke said, drawing Clem's attention to the blood running down the tube and into the IV bag. "Does it still hurt?"

"Um…" she hesitated, tilted her head to one side. "Not really."

"Well, that's 'cause Carlos knows what he's doing,"

Maybe it was the way he talked, or the way his words made Clementine relax and breathe, but Amelia was reminded that optimism wasn't useless. It was difficult to remember, and always felt out of place. But it had potential to mean something, if she let it.

Maybe Pete could live through this. Thinking that he could was better than insisting he wouldn't.

 _You know why he won't._

Minutes crawled by, and Carlos picked up the bag and disconnected it from the needle in Clem's arm sooner than Amelia expected. He carefully pulled the needle out, without hesitation despite the way she winced, and pressed a gauze pad to the puncture site.

"Do you think you got enough?" Luke asked.

Carlos had turned around, already putting a clean needle on the end of the IV and looking for a vein in Pete's arm. "It will have to do. Take Clementine out of the truck and go get your machete."

"Let's go, Clem."

Clementine mumbled something that didn't quite form words, then she cleared her throat and tried again. "Okay…"

They moved behind Amelia, who knew Carlos hadn't told her to leave but was getting too anxious at the thought of Clementine leaving her sight. She'd never heard her slur words like that…

"I'm going to check on her. Nick?" Amelia said, hoping he would take over for her. Nick stared down at his uncle, and didn't look up or move.

Carlos' answer was a cement block, dropped abruptly on the floor with no intention of being moved. "No."

"She's-"

"I promise you, she will be fine. She needs a bottle of water and a nap." Carlos lifted the IV bag, which was about three quarters full with Clem's blood. He handed it to Nick, and watched the tube run red all the way down to Pete's vein. "Keep it up high. Squeeze it gently." He addressed Amelia without looking at her. "You need to stay. I'll need you to help hold him down."

Amelia heard his words and found herself mimicking her sister, mumbling a non-word as she understood what they meant.

"Oh...sh-…"

Luke climbed back into the truck, using one hand to steady himself because the other held his machete; he held it blade-up, handling it carefully because the blade was searing hot and glowing orange. He was here, and he had the machete, and this was happening despite the fact that she wasn't ready, would never be ready to do this.

 _How do you think Pete feels?_

Pete didn't feel anything. But he would.

"Are you serious…?" Nick asked, hands on the IV bag. " _Are you fuckin' serious_?"

"Nick, calm down, please," Luke said.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" he snapped. "Carlos, please! There has to be something else!"

"There isn't. This will help disinfect the wound and we have no other way to stop the bleeding." Carlos took the machete from Luke by the handle. "Hold him there," he told Amelia, who put her hands over his right shoulder and pinned his arm to the floor with her knee. "Make sure you don't interrupt the transfusion. Luke, keep his other leg down."

"Carlos, don't…don't do this to him," Nick said.

"This is what needs to be done if you want him to live." Carlos said, cold and direct as he got to his feet and took the machete from Luke. He stepped around Pete and knelt down by his leg. "I'm sorry, Nick."

Amelia didn't mean to, but she looked up, right into his face. His eyes were wide and sad, the same puppy expression in a different color, which Amelia guessed he didn't wear often.

"Don't look," she muttered. He broke eye contact and looked down at his uncle.

Carlos pressed the blade against Pete's open wound, starting at the edge and moving clockwise, working his way in. He didn't hesitate and he didn't stop, even when Pete started to stir. Amelia looked down at his face, watching it contort in pain even through the drugs he'd been given. It would've be long before the pain became too much and he-

Pete opened his eyes. Gritted his teeth. Tried to move his arms but Amelia and Nick wouldn't let him. He tried to form words and failed, throwing his head back and starting to shake.

Then the screaming started.

Time became hazy. Seconds blurred into minutes blurred into hours, maybe. She didn't know. People around her shouted to be heard over Pete's screams, and all the voices tangled into each other and became impossible for her to understand. Can you sedate him again and I can't give him anymore and Pete please stick with us please and I'm sorry I'm sorry until Amelia shut her eyes and did the one thing she'd been told to do: lean all of her weight on Pete's shoulders and keep him from sitting up. She tried, and after a point she couldn't tell if it was her strength or Nick's keeping him down; the likelihood that it was the latter was more than she wanted to admit. She didn't want to be useless. She wasn't the one experiencing pain that could make a person want to die. The least she could do was not be useless. But the longer this went on, the closer Amelia got to giving out, to accepting that she couldn't do this anymore.

He managed to lift his back about an inch off the ground, and she realized they should've had him pinned by the chest and not just the shoulders. She shifted and put a knee over his chest for more leverage against him. She tried to ignore the sickening smell of burning flesh, but that and blood was all she could smell when she breathed, indescribable agony was all she could hear and she was wondering if Pete would've asked for this. It was easy to say yes, to assume that Pete would've wanted to live if the choice had been left up to him.

But that was before they'd started this. Five minutes in, Amelia wasn't sure it was a deal she'd take herself.

Her train of thought had run away, and she was tempted to let it take her far away from where she was. She was asking herself if this was right – there was that word again, that stupid fucking word that was supposed to be simple but didn't mean anything anymore – if it was a good thing to put a man through excruciating pain, to essentially torture a human being to save his life. More than that, she found herself thinking about people who had once been in her life; people who were long gone but still took up a painful amount of room in her heart, whose opinions still mattered to her more than they should've. She wondered what they would think of this, which was a way of sugarcoating her real question.

What would they think of her for doing this?

The worst was over for Pete when he fell unconscious again. Suddenly the carriage of the truck was eerie and silent, save for the labored breathing of everyone in the room and the sound of Carlos searing the last of the wound shut.

Finally, he put the machete down. Dropped it, filling the truck with sharp clang of metal hitting metal. He reached into the medical bag for antiseptic and gauze. He didn't speak right away, and the room stayed silent. Amelia wondered if everyone was afraid to speak, or if she was the only one. She slowly pulled her knee from Pete's chest, and Nick did the same on his other side. Once they were off, she could see his chest rising and falling, slowly, gently.

"You all can go." Carlos said solemnly, unraveling a long roll of bandages, white and pristine. "I'll finish things here and call you if you're needed." Luke slowly, shakily got to his feet, stooping down to pick up his weapon from the floor. "Leave that."

After a slow count of three, Luke let go of the handle, setting it back on the floor, close enough for Carlos to reach. He turned around and jumped out of the truck, stumbling into a crouch when his feet made contact with the ground. He put his hands on his knees, took a breath, and pushed himself back up. Amelia thought she saw him put a hand to his face and shake his head has he walked away.

"You can go." Carlos repeated himself, more sternly this time.

"I'm staying." Nick said.

"I need you out of the way more than I need your help. Both of you, get out please."

" _I'm staying._ If he's gonna…if he's gonna turn and you have to kill him, I'm gonna be here for it."

Carlos didn't seem to like it. Maybe he was as exhausted by this as the rest of them were, maybe he was just choosing his battles. He sighed and gave Nick a nod and started using a medical rag to disinfect what was left of Pete's wound.

Amelia looked over Pete's face. He was frighteningly pale and drenched in sweat. In her experience, people tended to look peaceful when they slept. But even unconscious, Pete still looked like he was in pain. He would be for a long time, if he was lucky enough to live through the rest of the day…

"Amelia," Carlos said, wiping gently at the seared, blackened skin. Between the last time he'd spoken and now, something had softened his voice. "You've done more than enough. Go check on your sister."

She left, and immediately understood why Luke had stumbled when her own feet hit the ground. Her legs felt weak and soft, virtually useless after spending so long in an unnatural, uncomfortable crouch.

She looked out across the clearing, still uneasy about…about something. She couldn't name it. Something wasn't sitting right, and the more she thought about Pete's situation the harder it became to pinpoint what it was. There was at least one piece that wasn't fitting with the others.

He was in that truck for a long time. Overnight. And Nick said he'd only found him recently. This morning. If he sawed off his own leg, there was no way he'd still have been alive when they found him unless he'd only done it recently. After he'd been bitten for over a full day. Carlos knew this. He knew more about the way infections spread than anyone else in the group. He knew and he still tried to save his life, which meant Pete had to have a chance. Carlos wouldn't have wasted the supplies otherwise, as callous as it sounded. He wouldn't have drawn blood from her sister and delayed their escape into the mountains for nothing.

Carlos was a doctor. _A surgeon_. He knew everything about diseases. She could trust the choice he made. Everyone else did. But she knew about _this_ disease _._ More than she'd ever wanted to learn. She crossed her arms, suddenly worried that if she couldn't figure out what was bothering her, someone around her was going to pay a price for it-

"Amelia!" Clementine had raised her voice to a shout, waving at her from the campfire. She gave Amelia a full-armed wave, trying to get her attention. She and the others were seated around the fire, which someone had put out. It was smoldering, giving off only a thin trail of grey smoke.

She crossed the field and joined them, taking a seat by Clementine while Rebecca wrapped a light bandage around her arm. She was using a cross wrap, shaping the bandage so into an X over Clementine's inner elbow. Alvin held something small that crinkled in his hands. When he unwrapped it Amelia could see it was a tiny plastic straw. He punched it through the seal in a juice box, and handed it to Clem.

"Here, Clem,"

"Thanks," she said gratefully, reaching with her free arm.

Luke sat with his elbows propped up on his knees, staring into the remains of the fire as if there was still something to look at. He didn't move, or look up, or speak when Amelia sat down between him and Clementine, and she knew what it looked like when someone was far away, mentally. She also knew when it was better to let them come back on their own time.

"Can I have one, too?" Sarah asked quietly. She sat next to Clementine, her back to the truck. Amelia could see it over her shoulder, in the distance. She had a feeling Rebecca had chosen her spot for her, and had been insistent on keeping her there.

"Alvin," Rebecca said, tying off Clem's bandage.

"Yeah, I got it right here…" Alvin trailed off, rummaging through his backpack for another.

Clementine carefully set her juice box on the ground, and Amelia noticed that she'd picked up her backpack, and Hilda. She threw the zipper open and took out one of their two water bottles.

"Are you okay?" she asked Clementine, uncapping the bottle and handing it to her. She nodded but didn't speak, which told Amelia no, she wasn't quite okay. Clementine almost always reverted to silence when she was upset.

Rebecca straightened up, sitting back on her heels. She raised an eyebrow, and her tone wasn't sharp but wasn't friendly when she said, "We should be the ones asking you that." She looked between Amelia and Luke; both were covered in blood that wasn't theirs and neither of them quite met her eyes. "You two are a mess," she sighed, getting to her feet and gesturing specifically to Amelia. "Come on. Bring the bag."

She had questions. A lot of them. But she listened. She got up and followed Rebecca away from the fire pit, to the other side of the clearing. She remembered their last conversation. She knew Rebecca did, too. In a way, it was a relief to have it be overshadowed, made completely insignificant by something bigger and more important than their fight in the kitchen.

Amelia just wished it hadn't been this. She'd have taken anything over this.

They walked until they passed the truck, and stopped when it stood between them and the rest of the group over by the fire.

"You need to change," Rebecca told her when they reached the front bumper. "You still have those clothes?"

Amelia was slow to answer. "…yeah." Rebecca was right. Her clothes were soaked through. She felt morbid and wrong knowing she looked like she'd been caught in some kind of massacre. In a way, she had, albeit all she'd seen was the aftermath. She took the shirt and jeans Rebecca and Alvin had given her, still neatly folded. She stared at them in her hands for just a bit too long.

"Go on," Rebecca turned around, looking out across the clearing. She didn't sound impatient despite the words she chose. "No one's watching."

It was true. No one was watching. But Amelia changed with her back against the truck all the same. She pulled her shirt over her head and dropped her pants, holding the truck's rearview mirror for balance and kicking them off when the wet fabric clung to her ankles. Looking down at her own body, she realized for the first time how unfamiliar it had become to her, given how infrequently she actually saw it. The years of scavenging and fighting the dead-

 _-and the living-_

-had added up to a visible patchwork, a road map of mistakes and injuries, each one a permanent reminder of the person or thing that gave it to her. A deep slash across her hip, claw marks left by fingernails on her ankles and lower legs. A graze, burned into her upper arm by someone who intended to shoot her and only barely missed. A former bullet wound in her shoulder from another someone who'd had better aim. Two punctures in the center of her right palm. Endless cuts and scrapes that should've gone away but never really did. She had a story for every one of them; stories she would never tell because she wasn't cruel enough to burden others with the disgusting and horrific details involved.

Contrary to what the people who knew her believed, she didn't have any misgivings about being caught in her underwear. Being seen nearly naked by the wrong person, the awkward confrontation that would likely happen after…it used to scare her. The idea was humiliating. The the world had changed, and with it, her threshold for embarrassment. If getting embarrassed was the worst thing to happen to her all day, then it had been a good day. She wasn't bothered getting undressed in an open field, and she certainly wasn't bothered by Rebecca being there. What bothered her was the thought that Rebecca, or anyone, could catch sight of her back, and ask her questions about the one scar she couldn't explain.

When she was dressed, Rebecca asked for an _all clear_ and turned around again. "Hand me that," she said, pointing to the top Amelia had left on the ground. Again, she did what she was asked, bending down to pick it up and tossing it to her, underhand. Rebecca dropped her own backpack on the ground, took out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and poured it over what was left of Amelia's shirt.

Amelia found herself talking. If she'd thought it through beforehand she would have kept her mouth shut. "You shouldn't…waste that."

"You wouldn't say that if you could see yourself." Rebecca dumped another splash of water onto the shirt until her bottle was half-empty. "You saw Luke?"

She nodded. Luke looked like he'd killed a large animal with his hands. The blood was splattered across his shirt, soaked into the front of his jeans from top to bottom. His hands were red from his fingertips up to his forearms. Amelia wasn't as worried about that as she was about the look she'd seen in his eyes.

And Nick…she didn't know where to start.

"It's even worse on you." Rebecca said. "So you're going to take this…" She held the shirt out to her, and Amelia took it, confused but not opposed to the sudden gentle tone of her voice. "And you're going to clean up,"

She hesitated, not because she was unsure but because all of her movements and thoughts were…slow. The inside of her head was a slideshow of blood and suffering. Processing thoughts was like trying to swim through sand. A lot of mental effort, spent to get absolutely nowhere.

The thoughts about Pete…those came through crystal clear. She was trying to remember how much blood was in the human body, and how much a person could live without when Rebecca put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back to the present.

"Now's not the time to keep thinking about it. It's out of your hands now."

"He just…"

"It's out. Of your hands." She said again, her voice soft. "There's nothing else you can do. This isn't on you anymore. Understand?"

Amelia found herself nodding when she didn't mean it. "Yeah…yeah." She wrapped the shirt around her hands, trying to wipe away some of the blood. She could see the natural color of her skin here and there, starting to show in streaks beneath the red.

Rebecca crossed her arms. "Pete's tough. Never thought anything could take that man down. I still think that."

Amelia was listening, but she didn't do much to show it. She put the shirt up to her face and took a few blind swipes at the blood on her face, down her neck, over her collarbone.

"I know you know how to keep your head on straight. I've seen you do it." Rebecca said.

Amelia frowned, looking around as if someone else were there to explain to her what that meant. "My head is…" she shook her head, feeling petulant and awkward arguing with her. She tried to come up with something other than Rebecca's own words to say back to her, and came up with nothing. "It's on. Straight." She shook her head again, aware that she sounded like an idiot and frustrated with herself for it. "What does that even mean?"

"It's not. If you need a minute to get yourself there, that's fine." Rebecca rested a hand over her baby bump. "It's going to take all of us to recover from this. And something tells me you're going to come back faster than the others."

"What…tells you that?"

"It's just what I think. We need everyone's help." She held a hand out for the shirt, seeing that Amelia was finished with it. "So you do what you need to do, and I'll see you back over there."

She didn't leave any room for arguments or questions. Amelia watched her turn and start back toward the campfire and understood the message, very clearly. It wasn't a request. It wasn't a demand, either. It was an expectation, one that, for once, someone seemed to believe she could meet.

Rebecca stopped, and looked back to her. "I know this wasn't your fault, Amelia. So do the others."

And just like that, Amelia was alone. And for the first time in…years maybe? It was up to her to decide when to change that.

 _Actually, it's been up to you for a long time._

* * *

Amelia came back to the group a few minutes later. Back behind the truck, she'd taken a seat on the ground. After several deep breaths, she counted to twenty. Then she took another and counted to fifty. She got up and joined the group when she realized she would keep doing this, adding time to keep avoiding them.

On the walk over, she could see them at a distance. Alvin and Rebecca were busy, trying to occupy Sarah on one side of the fire pit. Clementine and Luke sat on the other. Amelia went to them, knowing Clem needed to eat something if she was going to replace the pint of blood she'd lost and regretting taking the bag that held their only food supply.

Luke was talking when she got there, telling her something about blood drives while he ran Amelia's shirt around his hands and over his wrists. He'd cleaned up, between Amelia leaving and coming back – she guessed Rebecca had had something to do with it – and now the worst of it was on his clothes. Amelia sat down with them to see Clementine already had an energy bar, open and half-eaten.

"Where'd you get that?" Amelia asked, hating the way she sounded when she asked questions she already knew the answer to.

Clementine was chewing, so she nodded toward Luke, refusing to speak with her mouth full despite the fact that neither of them had used table manners in years.

"Figured she should eat something," Luke said. "I got another one if you need it."

Amelia shook her head, and avoided his eyes, involuntarily going back to a moment in the truck that she knew he'd noticed as well as she did. She wondered how long he would pretend he hadn't.

She'd learned a long time ago that the decisions people made when they didn't have time to think were the most honest. They left no choice but to tell the truth, even if the person didn't mean to. In one way, Amelia wasn't upset. She always preferred the truth to a lie. Even if she didn't like what she heard, she was glad she'd heard it. In another…

They'd known him for two days. Two days. Amelia knew he was kind, and generous. He was gentle – a quality that she'd always _gravely_ under-appreciated, until she spent time around people who were not – and optimistic, which must have been a pleasant change for Clementine after spending all day, every day with her for the last two years of her life.

She knew all that and she couldn't argue with it. But she couldn't shake a vicious, persistent need to remind Clem that she barely knew Luke, that…

He wasn't actually her brother. Clementine had one sibling. And it wasn't him.

"Anyway…" Luke laced his fingers together, un-laced them, cracked his knuckles. Tried to smile but only half-succeeded. "They used to bring this bus onto campus. And if you donated there they'd give you pizza."

Clem frowned, tilting her head. "You gave blood in a bus?"

"It was a…medical bus." Luke scratched the back of his head. "Hell, I don't know."

"That's weird."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Amelia looked at her sister and decided no, she wouldn't do that. Ever. It wouldn't be difficult; she was no stranger to keeping things to herself. Luke noticed Amelia looking at the truck, trying to see inside and get an idea of what was happening.

"Couldn't get him to come out," he said. "He won't leave until Carlos is done."

Clementine lowered her energy bar into her lap, and started fidgeting with the wrapper. "Do you think he's going to be okay?" She didn't ask anyone in particular, so Amelia stayed quiet. She already had a feeling she knew whose answer she'd prefer anyway.

"Of course he will, Clem." Luke said. "We found him just in time, and…" He trailed off when she started to look upset, more so than she already was. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't know he…did that. I would have said something if I did."

Amelia shook her head, amazed at her sister's ability to take blame for things that had nothing to do with her. "We know that, Clem."

"Nobody here thinks that, Clementine. This wasn't…"

Behind her, Nick stepped out of the truck bed; his knees buckled underneath him immediately, Luke got up to meet him there, pulling him to his feet while Nick barely cooperated.

"Come on," Luke breathed. "You're okay, Nick, you're-"

Nick broke out of his friend's grip, and Amelia caught a very specific look on his face, one she was ashamed to say was familiar to her. Luke didn't get another word out before Nick made the for the bushes, stumbling back to his knees and throwing up into the brush.

Luke moved to follow him, and Amelia caught his attention. "Luke." When he looked, she gave him a slight, almost imperceptible head shake. She wasn't about to claim she knew Nick better than his best friend did. But she spent a full day locked in a room with him, with nothing to do other than talk to him. From what she'd gathered from that time, she was willing to guess he didn't need anyone hovering around him right now. He needed time. Time wouldn't necessarily make anything better; it would just make it hurt less. Eventually.

Amelia stood up when Carlos followed Nick out of the truck, slowly stepping down onto the ground. Amelia came closer to see Pete, lying motionless in the truck bed behind him. She waited, knowing better than to push for news from a doctor covered in his patient's blood.

Carlos crossed his arms, and Amelia didn't like the look on his face. "He's stable, for now. He lost a lot of blood, but the bleeding has stopped and he doesn't have a fever."

"So, that means…?" Luke didn't smile. But his face brightened in a way that made Amelia sure he was getting his hopes up. She wanted to tell him not to but couldn't place why.

"If he were going to turn from the bite, he'd have done it by now." Carlos said. "The amputation saved his life. It gave him a chance, at least."

It should've been good news. It was. But it was to be closely followed by more that would keep anyone from celebrating. News that wasn't really news at all because everyone in the group had been thinking it for a long time now.

Carlos knew this, and it was clear from the look on his face that it made him uncomfortable to be the one to say it. He looked to Nick, who was too far away to hear anything. He'd stopped retching but he remained doubled over in the bushes.

"I…Carver is still on his way. And Pete is in no condition to move."

Amelia didn't have to look or listen to know Luke would be the first to object. The others were in the same position they'd been in an hour ago, with Nick. Now they were left to decide whether they were willing to make the same choice, twice in a row, this time with two of their friends instead of one.

"Carlos," Luke said, a hint of warning in his voice.

"It won't take Carver's men long to come this way, once they've been to the cabin." Carlos said. "They have ways of tracking us. They will find us unless we leave now."

Clementine joined the group and stopped by Amelia, her shoulder pressed into Amelia's hip. Amelia noticed, and knew this was much closer than she normally stood. She hoped that if her sister's usual resilience and independence had been shaken, that it wouldn't stay that way for long. But Amelia would be there to lean on for as long as it took to come back.

"No." Amelia said, maybe taking courage

 _-stupidity-_

from knowing that Clem was quite literally by her side, maybe just tired of pretending to take the middle when she had something she felt was worth saying. "We're not leaving him. Not after all that."

"It's not up to you, Amelia." Carlos responded.

"It's not. It's up to your group, which Pete is a part of. What's the point of this-" She waved a hand between herself, across Luke and Carlos, over to Alvin and Rebecca and Sarah. "-if you just…I thought the point of doing this was so you have people who _won't_ leave you behind. Even if they have a reason to."

"Thank you," Luke said. "This isn't right, Carlos."

Carlos shook his head. Amelia expected frustration from him, maybe anger. But Carlos seemed drained in more ways than one. "I never said it was." His voice was low and solemn, and Amelia felt that despite the argument she'd given, all the arguments she could give, he'd already made up his mind and neither Rebecca or Alvin would fight him on it. None of them wanted this, she knew that. But it was happening anyway.

"No." Amelia said again, hoping staunch refusal would do in place of logical argument.

"No?" Carlos asked. She got the sense that, given his years working on operating rooms, he was unaccustomed to the word.

"No. We can find some other way to do this."

"And what would you suggest?"

"…" Her mind raced through a sequence of ideas, shooting them down as quickly as they occurred to her because each one was more ludicrous than the last. Getting the truck working and driving him out of here

 _-no-_

sending a small group to divert Carver's men away

 _-no-_

finding a fucking wheelbarrow, for God's sake _anything_

 _-no-_

She had nothing, absolutely nothing but an infuriatingly soft heart and an obligation to a man who saved her sister's life, something she wouldn't be able to forget. She fell back to her last resort, one that lacked sophistication and tact and for the most part wasn't even useful, at least not for anything other than delaying inevitable failure.

Stalling.

"Give me ten minutes."

Carlos sighed, exhausted, and she was sorry to keep dragging him over the coals for trying to protect his daughter – she felt they were similar, that she understood him in a way the others didn't – but she had a debt to repay.

"Give me ten minutes to figure something out." She looked to Luke and put a hand on Clementine's shoulder, knowing that as long as Nick was…unavailable, they were the only two allies she knew she'd have on this. "If I don't have anything by then, we'll leave."

Amelia got an answer from a voice she didn't recognize right away, because she hadn't been expecting to hear it. To tell the truth, she hadn't been expecting to hear it ever again.

"That won't be necessary." Pete was struggling to push himself into a sitting position. "We're movin' out now."

"Pete," Luke rushed to the edge of the truck bed, reaching in to stop him. "Woah, hey, take it easy."

Pete's words hit Luke like he'd fired them from a nail gun. Hard, sharp, pointed, and they seemed to stab him right in the chest.

" _When I want your help, I'll ask for it_."

Luke pulled back, retracting his arm like Pete had bitten him. "I'm sorry, it's just-" Luke looked over his shoulder. "Carlos, he can't be doin' this so soon,"

Amelia was dumbstruck. _But...he is._

Carlos crossed his arms, his face impossible to read as he watched Pete sit up, push himself to the edge of the truck bed, and put his only foot down on the ground. He steadied himself on the truck's bumper, clinging to it for balance as he slowly put weight on his good leg. The other hung above the ground, ending in the middle of his shin and wrapped professionally in clean, white gauze.

"Pete…?" Rebecca was as speechless as Amelia.

"You're…sure you can do this?" Carlos asked him.

"I ain't bleeding anymore. You said so yourself." Pete grunted, his face contorting in pain he couldn't hide, as much as he wanted to. "I'm awake, I can walk, and I'll be damned if Carver catches up to us because'a me."

Amelia tried to think back to the last time she'd been this shocked. Nothing stood out as something that could be compared to this. He was ready to walk, after what she'd just finished doing to him…

 _Wow._

He was still pale. There was still a grey-ish tinge, spread across his cheeks and neck that Amelia didn't like-

 _-because you've seen it before-_

-but he was conscious and had the strength to stand up. That had to be a good thing.

" _Nick!_ " Pete snapped. His voice was hoarse but it carried all the way across the clearing. Nick sat upright and twisted around, likely wondering if he was really hearing his uncle's voice or going insane. "Quit pissin' in the woods and get your ass over here!"

Nick ran back to them, nearly at a sprint. " _Uncle Pete?_ " He stuttered, out of breath and nearly speechless. "What-? What the hell are you doing? You're okay…?"

"No, he isn't," Carlos said. "But if he can walk for now, we'll stop to rest down the road." He turned to address Pete directly. "You need to promise me that you're going to take it easy. You've lost blood, which means you can't handle physical activity as well as the rest of us for the next few days."

Pete shook his head, looking more irritated than anything else. "You don't need to worry about me. What we need to do is haul ass. I don't know what we're still doin' here talking about it."

"Let's go, then," Nick moved to his side, ducking beneath one of his arms to help him walk. The rest of the group seemed to agree, though no one said it. Maybe because no one knew what to say to Pete. Thanking him, and apologizing to him seemed like a good start to Amelia. She had the feeling everyone would be doing it later, when they'd put some distance between them and Carver.

 _The thing_ tagged along with her. Whatever it was that she swore wasn't right about what happened to Pete. She kept thinking it was nothing, that she was making something out of nothing, but she _knew_ she wasn't. The group had missed something. She pushed it away, telling herself that they had bigger problems than that. A small part of her knew she was ignoring it on purpose. As long as she couldn't figure it out, she couldn't be held accountable for it. Because something told her, that when and if she did, she would be the one answering for it.

Things tended to work out that way.


	11. Pieces

**A/N: I'm leaving a quick message here, because I've been away from the site for personal reasons. I know it's been a while, so I wanted to drop a thank-you to everyone who has left me reviews and otherwise supported my story so far.**

 **So, thank you very, very much to users Hongo En, ArtemisRenee, and G0nna6oF4rK1D for leaving me your thoughts, as well as everyone else on my favorite/follow lists.**

 **Another thank you to user TheDomdotCom for his continued support, kind messages, and detailed reviews.**

 **And _one more_ for my friend BHBrowne, for his wonderful reviews and for beta reading scenes from all three of the following chapters.**

 **Hearing what you think and communicating with you on the subject of writing means a lot to me. I have serious emotional stake in this story and it makes me infinitely happy that people are enjoying reading it.**

 **If you're still here after my three-month absence, thank you for sticking around. You are part of the reason I write.**

 **Note: I've posted three chapters because, in an effort to develop the characters more and feature more of them interacting with each other, two of them are essentially fluff chapters, set between major plot points of the game. This is why the (originally single) fluff chapter has been split into two: to make them easy to read, and easy to skip if you so choose. So, if you're like me, and you like fluff, please enjoy. If you don't, the relevant plot picks up in "Preemptive."**

 **Again, thank you for reading.**

* * *

8:49 pm

 _Twenty-four hours._

 _Stop it._

 _Twenty-four hours._

 _Stop._

 _Twenty-four hours._

 _Please. Cut it out._

She felt foolish for asking so nicely. She already knew it wouldn't make the phrase stop repeating itself in her head. That voice of hers, her own malicious stream of consciousness that loved to watch her suffer didn't respond to manners.

But she was out of cards. So she did it anyway. She couldn't listen anymore, and – looking across the clearing at Pete, who'd taken a seat on the ground and still had a sickly grey tinge to his skin – she didn't want to do the one thing that would make it stop. Couldn't Wouldn't.

Luke was standing near Pete, holding an unfolded map at arm's length, tilting it this way and that. Probably regretting leaving it in his pocket until it was almost too dark to read it. He was almost out of earshot, but Amelia could hear every word from Clementine as she wandered around him, talking talking, talking. Orbiting him like a happy, chatty little satellite, when six days out of seven Amelia was lucky to get an unenthusiastic conversation out of her.

She didn't even have his full attention. She was smart enough to see that. It didn't seem to bother her.

"He played the guitar, and he gave me candy." She was saying. Amelia could see the smile on her face from across the clearing. "I don't really remember much else about him, though. But he was really nice."

"That's, uh…" Luke trailed off, frowning as he tried to read in low light. "That's…" He lowered the map and frowned again, this time not trying to see but trying to remember what he'd just heard. Clem didn't seem to mind waiting. "Sounds like you barely knew him, to be honest."

"We didn't, really."

"He could'a been dangerous." Back to the map. Frown. Head scratch.

"Amelia liked him."

"…did she…?" He looked over his shoulder, sweeping the clearing for Carlos, or maybe Pete, Amelia guessed. Someone who could help him figure out how close they were to the mountains. Because he couldn't tell; that much was clear. "I don't really see that, Clementine."

"She did," Clem insisted, and paused as another thought occurred to her. Luke caught Nick's attention and waved him over. Nick hesitated when he saw, looked between Luke and Pete and back to Luke. "…even though she wouldn't let me eat the candy."

"That sounds more like her."

"She took it away."

"I would'a, too." Luke leveled the map in front of him when Nick caught up to them. "We're either…" He tapped a finger to the paper. "…here, or…"

Nick shook his head, the impatience apparent in his voice even from where Amelia stood. "We're past that. We've been walking in a straight line all day."

"You sure?"

He was. Amelia could hear it. There was no uncertainty in his voice, no question of his own judgment. She could also hear that he couldn't wait for this conversation to be over, wished Luke had asked for someone else's opinion. "That's too far off the course. We've been walking northeast for almost twelve hours and we never changed direction. The sun just set behind us."

"I'll take your word for it."

"In the morning, we'll head out that way." Nick pointed out into the distance, where she could assume there were mountains they couldn't see yet. Luke might've had something else to say, maybe another question for his friend, who seemed to be a better navigator than he was. But Nick was already gone, leaving him with, "I have to get back to Pete," uncapping a bottle of water and trying again to get Pete to drink it.

It wouldn't go well, just like it hadn't the first, second, third, fourth time he'd tried. It didn't stop him from trying again.

Pete's voice was distant, but gruff and unmistakably his. "I told you I don't need any more'a that."

Nick matched the irritation in his voice, quickly, effortlessly. "Just have some, Pete, you lost-"

"I already had more than my share. Now get that outta my face,"

They had a long night ahead of them. The first of five. That's what Luke had said.

" _I figure we got about five days until we reach those mountains."_ Because that was where they were going to lose Carver.

The man who had dozens of people slaughtered was going to be stopped by an uphill climb and a few inches of snow.

She hoped they were right. She wanted them to be. The idea was for Carver to lose their tracks in the snow. That wasn't the problem. The hard part would be getting there, before he caught up to them.

She didn't mean to be pessimistic. She couldn't help being aware that their situation was grim and their odds were miserable. They'd walked for an entire day, but a group could only cover so much ground with two children, one adult hobbled and another pregnant. The day had passed with more stops than she would have liked. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Rebecca needed to rest. Pete came dangerously close to passing out on three separate occasions. Luke and Nick got tired of walking around covered in Pete's blood; they stopped to change their clothes and bury the old ones. Amelia needed Carlos to fix her stitches; that one was on her. She couldn't take the blood dripping into her eye any longer. It stung.

And the fucking pee stops.

They'd stopped so often along the way Carver could have been an hour behind them. She wouldn't have been surprised if he was. Amelia was fighting the urge to grab Clementine's hand and run screaming into the forest. Alone. Far away from these people and the man chasing them.

She'd yet to actually do it. But she was close.

 _That's not why you want to run screaming._

That, and the thing.

She remembered, about an hour into the forest. Not remembered, so much as failed to keep pushing it away. And there it was, in her mind, on her face, broadcasting her guilt to everyone around her. She'd kept a lid on it, aware that she could only do it for so long. The easiest way to hold it together, so far, had been two things she was no stranger to: distance and avoidance.

So she watched. She watched the backs of the heads of the people in front of her while they walked. And she watched them have their conversations when they stopped. Watched Rebecca sit down and rest her hands on her stomach. Watched Alvin dote on her, urge her to drink water, have something to eat. Watched Nick check on Pete every few minutes, watched Pete tell him to fuck off every time, though not in those words. Watched Clementine hurry over to talk to her new favorite person every time he had a spare minute. Watched him make her laugh _twice_ in one day.

After a while, it started to feel like she was looking at them all through a one-way mirror. Observing a group of strangers who had no idea she was there. Including her sister.

But she wanted it that way, she told herself. That's why she stayed so quiet.

She noticed Carlos approaching Luke, and just as she was wondering where he left Sarah she realized someone was looking at her. She realized she was the one being watched now, when Clementine caught her eyes and gave her a smile and a full-armed wave.

 _Come over here!_

Carlos stopped in front of Luke and crossed his arms. "I take it we're staying here for the night?"

"This the best camping spot we've seen all day. Looks defendable. It'll get dark soon, so I figure we're better off stoppin' here than lookin' for something better."

Carlos nodded his understanding. "Make sure the surrounding area is safe."

Luke nodded pleasantly, folding the map back up and returning it to his back pocket. "Yes, sir."

Clementine waved again, standing up on her toes as if Amelia hadn't seen her, and that was the reason she wasn't coming.

Hands in her jacket pockets, Amelia peeled herself away from the tree trunk she'd been leaning against. Anything to get Clem to stop giving her that smiling, hopeful look. Hope always led to expectation. Expectation always led to disappointment. _A equals B equals C_. She felt she'd already disappointed her sister enough.

"I'll inform the others," Carlos said, leaving them as Amelia got there.

Luke regarded her as pleasantly as he had Carlos. Even gave her a smile. "Amelia. How are you doing? Haven't heard you say two words since we left."

"I'm good. Just, uh, tired…"

"You can take the first turn sleeping, then." He said, when she could see in the shadows under his eyes and way his shoulders sagged just a little that he needed sleep as much as she did. She was about to object, to remind him that she remembered he spent the better part of the night before searching the woods for her and Nick, when Clementine spoke up.

"Amelia said she wanted to help check out the camp."

That was news to her. Luke knew it wasn't true as well as she did.

"Great. I could use the help," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Normally, I'd ask Nick. But he's been, uh…" He turned back and didn't bother to finish. Neither Amelia or Clementine needed him to. "We'll take a walk around the perimeter in a few, alright?"

She didn't answer, not eager to keep following up on promises Clementine made for her, without her knowing. He lingered, expecting something else from her – something more than a noncommittal shrug. Clementine discreetly elbowed her in the hip.

Still, she had nothing to say.

"That's, uh…that's alright," Luke said. "I'll go check with Nick. 'Scuse me a minute."

He walked off in Nick's direction. Nick, who was alone for the first time she'd seen all day, rather than following Pete, imploring him to slow down and take it easy, getting snapped at, snapping back.

Where was Pete…? Amelia turned a full three hundred sixty degrees, sweeping her gaze across the clearing, watching the tree line for him because if he was off doing what she thought he was, then this was her chance to find out if she was right. Or hopefully, to show herself she was wrong.

 _You know that's not how it's going to go._

She spotted him, limping toward the trees with…with a hand clutched to his stomach.

 _I could still be wrong._

 _Then explain the twenty-four hours._

"Amelia," Clementine said, after Luke had left them alone.

Amelia didn't answer, she took a step toward Pete, then a few more, hesitating as she tried to wait until his back was turned. Just as he seemed to be heading off into the woods, Nick caught up with him, sliding his backpack off of his shoulders in preparation to help him walk.

"Hey, Pete, how about you-"

"Aw, God dammit…"

"-sit down over here?"

"Nick, I want a minute alone," he looked like he was trying not to scowl; he by no means succeeded. "Is that too much to ask?"

Amelia stopped listening. She'd heard this conversation a dozen times today.

"Amelia," Clementine said again. "Can you please talk to me?"

Amelia turned around. Looked at her sister and nodded.

"Yeah, Clem. What is it?"

"I know what you're doing."

"Do you want a cookie?"

"You're trying not to know them."

"And?"

Clementine sighed, and her voice remained gentle when Amelia expected that she'd made her angry. "Can you take this seriously? Please?"

Amelia didn't have much to argue with. Her sister's sincerity almost always won her over.

Clementine looked at her imploringly, arms crossed. "I want to stay with these people," She threw a look over her shoulder, and lowered her voice despite the fact that no one was close enough to hear. "You don't have to like them. I think we can trust them. That's the important part."

Amelia knew her sister was right. But, as always, she was resistant to new things-

 _-new people-_

She didn't like any changes to her and Clem's carefully constructed routine. The did things a certain way, the same thing every time because it worked. It was how the found supplies without getting robbed at gunpoint. It was how they slept through the night without getting grabbed in their sleep. It was the reason the two of them were still alive.

"They locked you up."

She'd been stupid to think Clem wouldn't notice, or call her on it. Clem knew when her sister didn't mean something, could see her defense mechanisms a mile away. More than that, she could see what was behind it. She saw Amelia telling a half-truth and, like she'd been trained in it for years – because, in a way, she had – picked out which of the many vulnerable parts of herself Amelia had been trying to defend.

"This isn't about that. You're just using that as an excuse because you're scared."

Amelia scoffed. Challenged her to prove that she knew what she was talking about because she underestimated how well her sister knew her. "Scared of what?"

"That they won't like you."

Shit.

Clem straightened up, seeing in Amelia's change of expression that she was right. Amelia had never been good at hiding her feelings. Making her own face lie for her was something she failed at as often as she tried it. "Or maybe that you'll like them, and they…won't stick around."

 _Shit._

Clem's face softened. When she took a victory, it was never cruel. There was nothing spiteful about the way she looked at her sister, knowing she'd proved her point for the sake of the point, and not just to be right. "We can't last on our own anymore. What if something like…those men in the woods…happens again?"

"I'll be ready next time."

"You were ready last time." Spotted. Pinned. Called out. Like a machine, a little robot specialized to detect Amelia's specific brand of bullshit. It was a two-way street, however. Clementine looked away, pretending to be looking around for the sake of looking when Amelia saw it for what it was: an attempt to fake nonchalance and hide her own feelings. A convincing effort, to anyone else. Transparent as hell to Amelia. "You almost died."

"Clementine…" Amelia let out a frustrated sigh, at a loss for what to say to an eleven-year old who was far too smart to lie to.

Clem still refused to turn back, and looked over her shoulder at Sarah, who was helping her dad unroll the group's sleeping bags. Sarah noticed Clementine looking, and after a beat, smiled widely and waved to them. "It's really hard to make it without friends, Amelia." Clementine turned back, and stared at Amelia's shoes to avoid eye contact. "You should know. It's harder for you than it is for me. I don't know why you don't want to stay."

"It's complicated, Clem."

That got her sister to look at her. "What does that even mean?"

"It means this might be a bad idea for reasons…you don't see yet."

"You mean Carver?" Clementine asked. "You're willing to take your chances with bandits but not with Carver?"

"I just want you to remember, this group isn't…the answer to all of our problems. And if we stick with them, we have to share their problems, too."

A cold breeze rolled through the clearing. Amelia felt it even through her jacket, and Clementine shivered. "I know you're scared."

 _Yeah. We've established that._

"We need them, and that's scary. But it'll never work if you don't even try."

Amelia sighed. She'd known this conversation would happen. In a way, she also knew how it would end. She realized her actions carried more meaning than her words, regardless of how cautious or understandable those words were. They were a day and a half's walk into the forest; if she'd really been planning to leave these people, she'd have done it by now.

She unzipped her jacket and let it fall off of her shoulders. Clementine knew what she was doing before she spoke.

"Keep it," she said.

"I don't need it." Amelia held it out to her. Clementine didn't reach for it. "You have a hard time sleeping when you're cold."

"Sometimes I can."

Another voice chimed it at a distance. "Wait, wait!" Sarah rushed over to them with a jacket in her hands, a fluffy, pink one that Amelia had never seen before.

"I grabbed this for you back at the house." She held it out, clasping her hands together after Clementine took it. "I guess I kind of…forgot I had it." She shrugged and laughed nervously. "Sorry."

Clementine didn't waste any time putting the jacket on. Amelia already knew she'd been bluffing about not needing one. It was further confirmed by the way Clem didn't even cringe at the color. "Thanks, Sarah."

"No problem," Sarah smiled. "That's what friends do."

Clementine glanced at Amelia. Sarah did the same, but avoided eye contact.

"Will you think about…what we were talking about? At least?" Clementine asked.

Amelia didn't answer. She folded her arms and looked away, the way she did when she was wrong and didn't want to admit it.

Finally, a nod.

Clementine smiled. It was enough.

* * *

8:55 pm

Amelia stepped away from the rest of the group, a short walk away from the sleeping bags on the ground to the clearing's edge, and found Luke trying to get Nick onto his feet. Nick, who'd taken a seat on the ground, had his rifle laid across his lap, wearily watching Pete from a distance. His eyelids were low and he looked ready to nod off. Amelia couldn't imagine he'd gotten any sleep since the shed.

"Look, I-" Luke ran a hand over his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Amelia wondered how he'd managed to keep it as long as it was, since everything had changed for the worse. The irony wasn't lost on her, that she was thinking this while wearing a ponytail that reached her shoulders. "I need your help with this."

"You're telling me Alvin won't do it? Carlos? Amelia? They all said no?"

"No, they didn't all-" Luke interrupted himself, the frustration plain on his face. "Alvin and Carlos are busy. They have people to take care of and-"

Nick's response was immediate, and sharp. "And I don't?"

" _That's not_ what I'm saying…" he amended quickly. "I'm just…come on, man. I feel like I'm the one doing everything here. I can live without getting credit for it, but it would be nice if someone helped me out once. _Once!_ "

Nick turned away from him, squaring his shoulders out toward the clearing. There was a silence; its brevity made it no less tense. When Nick spoke again, he was quiet. "He thinks he can take care of himself. And he can't right now."

"Nick, I get it…"

"No, you don't." The sharp edge was there, back as quickly as it had left. "What do you think is going to happen if he passes out again? He probably won't wake up, and then…"

Nick noticed she was there, and not surprisingly, didn't want to finish the conversation in front of her. He cleared his throat and turned away from Luke again, and went back to watching his uncle across the clearing.

His uncle, who even as he stood upright and spoke to Carlos about something she couldn't hear, held one hand to his stomach.

 _It could mean anything._

 _It means he feels sick. You know that._

He hadn't done it yet. But she would be waiting until he did. She had to see. She had to know.

Luke turned around, his face broadcasting in every direction that he was still heated from their argument. She expected him to carry that anger into his conversation with her, and was surprised to see him take a breath and soften his face and ask her, as pleasantly as she'd ever seen him,

"What is it, Amelia?"

He was back to the person she knew him to be – kind and patient, if a little exhausted and worried – in seconds. Amelia made a mental note, to try and figure out how he did it. How he placed his anger where it belonged and didn't take it out on people who didn't deserve it.

She thought she was ready to answer, but found she wasn't when she tried.

 _He fucked up. But so did you._

It didn't do much to change the fact that she really, really, didn't want to have this conversation. Lying to people was easy. People didn't make any secrets about the things they wanted to hear. All Amelia had to do was say it and sound like she meant it. Silence was even easier than lying.

Being honest, really, painfully honest at her own expense was an uphill trudge. It made her feel vulnerable and too open to the judgment of others. She forced words that didn't want to come out, one by one like a dentist pulling teeth.

 _You owe him one. He and Pete saved Clementine in the woods when it would have been easier to leave her there. They're the reason the group let her – and you – stay._

"I just…" _Didn't think of anything to say._ "…came to talk to both of you."

Luke didn't seem to know what to do with that right away. Rather, he didn't know what to expect, given the cautious way he looked at her, and she couldn't blame him. Nick threw her a glance over his shoulder before looking back across the clearing – but the posture and body language of a person listening while trying to look like they weren't hadn't changed since the last time she'd seen him do it.

"Sure," Luke crossed his arms, waiting. "Everything alright?"

Shit. This was awkward.

 _Not to late to turn back. Abort. Pull the plug._

 _Just get it over with,_ she told herself. _Start with the truth. And try to finish with the truth._

"I don't…have any social skills."

 _Great start._

Nick's response was quick, thrown over his shoulder without looking. "No shit."

"Nick-" Luke shot him a look he didn't bother to notice. "I…yeah, we'd gathered that…"

More silence. Long enough that Luke started trying to find somewhere else to look.

Amelia took a breath, which she dragged out to buy herself more time to think. _What else, what else…_

"I haven't been fair to you. Your whole group, really, but mostly…you two." This got Nick's attention – or rather, got him to stop pretending he wasn't paying attention. The look he gave her was strange. Scrutinizing. But at least he seemed to be listening. Luke brought up a hand to rub the back of his neck. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and as nice as he was, he wasn't about to pretend he didn't. "I don't know why. I guess it's because Alvin is too nice to give any shit to and…Carlos, Rebecca, and Pete scare the hell out of me…which leaves you."

Somewhere in her chest she started to feel lighter. A weight lifted – it had many names, Fear, Guilt, Discomfort – one that had been there so long she'd almost forgotten it was there. The more she talked, the easier it became to _keep_ talking. To breathe. To understand herself, which contrary to what she used to think, wasn't always easy for her to do.

Luke took the open pause she left to answer her. "I don't blame you for trying to protect your sister. We're all just…trying to keep our people safe."

"I just…blamed you for a lot. Things that weren't your fault. You made your decision as a group and…" She felt the urge to lie creeping back in, a subtle feeling that getting along with these people was better than being honest with them. Clementine wanted to stay. She also would have wanted her to tell the truth, but Amelia had told her before that she couldn't always have everything she wanted, especially when one thing contradicted another. A half-truth was better than nothing. "I…understand why you did it."

Luke looked to the ground, shaking his head slightly. Maybe it was at her. Maybe it wasn't.  
"Look, Amelia, I know you don't mean that. You don't have to. I don't have any excuses for what we did."

"I do." Nick spoke unexpectedly, sliding them both an unfriendly look over his shoulder.

"What does that mean?" Luke cut him a sideways look.

"It means you know why we did it. Would have been stupid not to. Just asking for the same shit to happen again."

"Nick." Luke said, a subtle warning in his tone. "She's trying to-"

"I know what she's trying to do. If y'all want to hold hands and sing campfire songs go ahead. We made the right call and I'm not apologizing for it."

Luke glanced to Amelia, maybe expecting her to be upset by his words. She offered him a raised eyebrow, and not much else.

"Why are you being like this, man?"

Amelia spoke quietly, but both Luke and Nick still heard. "Because you almost lost someone today."

She expected Nick to turn around, maybe say something cutting to her, maybe start hurling insults or obscenities. She was no stranger to any of it, both taking it and handing it out. He didn't. He looked down into his lap, suddenly fascinated with the way he was wringing his fingers together.

She could hear it. The lack of patience that came from being emotionally overtaxed, pushed beyond personal boundaries and then some. She could see the buildup of stress and paranoia, sparking off of him like electricity from an overcharged car battery. Surging everywhere, looking for an outlet, causing him pain for as long as it took to find one. The signs were all there, like a frequency that could only be seen and heard by people who'd been there.

Hours ago he'd been knee-deep in the blood of his last remaining relative. The last person, she assumed, he could say he loved. Pete's death, or the potential for it, had been guillotine hanging over Nick's head for an entire day, sometimes looking like it might stay put, others dropping hard and fast to just an inch over his neck, before crawling back up the rails to do it again later.

"It's…" Amelia spoke cautiously, knowing she would likely regret everything she was about to say. "…easy to get hostile toward the entire world when you're that…afraid. Trust me." She realized she didn't need to tell them; they'd been watching her do it since day one. "Makes me feel better anyway."

 _You know that about me by now._

 _Change the subject change the subject change the subject._ "Um. Anyway."

"We don't need to talk about this anymore if you don't want to." Luke told her.

"No." This had to be said. She'd come this far. Clementine would have been disappointed if she backed out now. "If you hadn't picked Clem up in the woods, I never would have found her. I see that now. I saw it before, I just didn't…"

 _Want to forgive you yet._

"You don't owe us anything." Luke insisted.

Amelia disagreed. "It's been a long time since we've…" _Don't hide behind Clementine. This isn't about the both of you._ "…since I've been around people. And I want to try but it's harder than I remember." Luke looked at her with gentle sympathy, and a subtle smile that said he understood. Not from experience, obviously. "But if you can be patient with me, I'd like to try to get to know all of you…that seems like a start."

Luke's smile was genuine and reassuring, and when she saw it she didn't know why she'd been expecting anything else from him. "It's a great start. I'm sure the group will be happy to hear it." She doubted that. But she'd been wrong before. Plenty of times.

"Do you…still want help clearing the camp?"

"Give me a minute. I'll tell the others what's goin' on. Tell them not to set up until we get back."

He walked back toward the group, on his way talk to Carlos, leaving Amelia in a silence so thick she'd almost forgotten Nick was still there.

Then, out of nowhere,

"Does it really make you feel better?"

She knew what he was talking about, and knew it would be childish to pretend she didn't.

"You either take it out on something or you turn it in on yourself. Breaking stuff is more fun."

He might have been about to tell her something. She could see on his face that he had something to say but Luke returned, walking fast and directing her to the edge of the clearing. Probably pushed into a rush by the fading light; it was getting too dark to see the walkers they'd be looking for.

"Over here. This is as good a spot as any."

Amelia looked back to Nick. He was already on his feet, and leaving.

* * *

9:09 pm

Amelia and Luke didn't have much to talk about. They walked in silence, save for the crunching of dead leaves under their footsteps.

Amelia debated saying it. She held onto it for a while, trying to remember she was no good with jokes. But it eventually came out in the silence, driven more by boredom than anything else.

"So… _did_ you want to sing campfire songs?"

It made him laugh.

* * *

9:47 pm

Amelia stood quietly behind Pete as he kneeled on the ground, doubled over and retching his guts out.

She had to wait all of half an hour to spot him limping into the woods alone. She followed him without being seen – by him or by the rest of the group – astounded that he'd held out this long –

- _please, you don't know how long you held out –_

That was true. She'd been unconscious, for a number of days she didn't learn until she caught up with Clementine and asked her how long it had been. Had she been awake, she doubted she'd have been able to last nearly as long as Pete had without…

Doing this.

Pete retched again, adding to the pool of hot tar growing in front of him, a seething mass of something both disgusting and familiar. Disgusting _because_ it was familiar, but also plenty vile in its own right.

She'd wanted to know. And now she knew.

 _Are you happy, now?_

No.

She passed her water bottle to him over his shoulder, holding it there for a long time before he reached back to take it. She knew what it felt like. All of it. The fever that burned up every drop of water in his body, the black tar that tore through him and took what little he had left. She knew without asking him that his head was pounding, throbbing painfully in time with his heartbeat. She knew he was on fire, and in pain, and empty. She knew he felt dead inside, because until recently, he was. His insides had been drowning in an insatiable poisonous infection until his body rejected it. Gathered it up in the pit of his stomach and threw it out. Violently.

"God damn…" he choked out. "After all this…I'm still gonna die…" He curled his fingers into fists, gathering up handfuls of wet dirt. "Ain't that…ain't that the biggest pile'a horseshit you ever heard in your life, Amelia…?"

He might have been trying to muster a laugh. But he didn't even get close.

"You're not dying." She told him, speaking up to be heard over his violent coughing.

He didn't answer her. He might have been about to before he dropped back onto his hands and puked again.

Amelia said it again, because she knew he didn't believe her the first time. "You're not going to die. This means you're going to live."

Pete spit onto the ground, and sat up again on his good knee. He failed to keep his balance that way, and sat back further, propping his elbows up on his knees and wiping muck from his mouth with the back of his hand.

A moment of exhausted breathing came and went. Amelia waited.

"What…in the hell…makes you say that?"

Amelia gave a half-hearted wave toward the mess on the ground, knowing neither she nor Pete wanted to spend any time looking at it.

"That was inside you. Now it's not. Give it a day."

"You a doctor now?"

"No."

Another moment of silence. Then a few more. Pete spit again and if Amelia could still have been surprised after the most resent shock of her life-

 _-"I'm awake, I can walk, and I'll be damned if Carver catches up to us because'a me-"_

-she'd have been floored by how far it went. She imagined him sitting on a porch somewhere, sharp shooting into a bronze spittoon. _Ping._

"I s'pose you still think I ought to believe you."

"It'd be nice."

"Ain't a lotta shit left in the world that's 'nice.'"

"Nope." Amelia let a few more seconds tick by. She had things to say but lacked the willpower to say them.

 _You survived for twenty-four hours with an infection that kills in twelve._

 _Hacking off your own leg with a rusty hand saw had nothing to do with it._

She'd thought it over, many times. Taken her best guess of the time frames involved and did the math, over and over. She was bitten in the morning, shortly after returning from the night she spent trying to loot the Crawford settlement. She'd caught up to Clementine by that evening. Hardly made it through the horde before she passed out. Chained herself to a radiator. Sent Clem out the back door with her gun.

Twelve hours, no matter how she cut it.

Duck was bitten on a morning, too. Late morning, but morning still. He was dead before the sun set that day. Sitting up against a tree and struggling to breathe while the virus turned him into a living corpse.

Twelve hours, just about.

"You feel better, don't you?"

Again, Pete didn't answer her and she didn't need him to. She could already hear the way his breathing had relaxed. She couldn't see much of his face in the dark but she remembered that after the miserable exodus came the empty relief. The only upside to being suffocated was that it felt _indescribably_ good to be able to breathe again.

"Give it a day." She said again.

"You gonna tell anyone what you saw?"

Even in the dark, she could hear very clearly that the answer, for her own good, had better be "no."

It was. "No."

"I better not hear about this from any of the others."

"Pete."

" _What?_ " He snapped quickly, and didn't seem to regret it. Not until his face softened. Not by much, but it did, and Amelia would remember she saw it.

He ran a hand over his head, staring at the ground between his legs. Likely paying more attention to the one that was no longer there.

"I know. I've been a real bastard today." He sighed, shaking his head and refusing to look up at her, no matter how long she stood there. She took the hint and sat down, crossing her legs and prepared to stay for a while. "Especially to Nick."

 _Only to Nick, really._

"I think you're entitled to a bad day."

If he disagreed, she couldn't tell. Amelia was an open book, as hard as she tried not to be. So was Nick; she'd already seen it more than once. Luke was pretty easy to read. Pete was not. If Pete didn't want to be understood, if he didn't want to let her in on his thoughts, then she would never know any of it. It was why he was easy to misunderstand. Amelia imagined people getting the wrong impression of him. Being fooled by his gruff exterior and his low tolerance for stupidity. She was sure it happened a lot – before, when there had been more people around – and guessed that Pete didn't care enough about it to correct them. She was almost one of them. If Clementine had let her strike back out into the forest the night they met him, she'd never have gotten to know who he really was.

 _The nicest mean old bastard I ever met._

Finally: "I've seen people get infected before. And I've seen just about every one of 'em do the same thing when the fever runs its course. The ones that didn't shoot themselves, anyway." His head moved in the dark – the only thing that told Amelia he was looking at her. Or trying to. "I've never seen this. Never heard of anything like it."

Amelia was silent, painfully aware that a lie of omission still made her a liar.

 _He deserves to know-_

 _He thinks he's dying-_

 _They should all know-_

She took a quick, silent breath that usually did the trick to stop her runaway train of thought. She closed her eyes and brought it to a grinding halt on the rails.

 _Pete will know he's not dying when he wakes up tomorrow better than he was today._

But the voice, the one that taunted her with every one of her past mistakes but was happy to become a voice of reason if it would make her suffer, wasn't satisfied with that.

 _He needs to know he's immune._

 _Because if he's ever bitten again, you already know he'd rather kill himself than go through this a second time._

And she would tell him.

Not now.

Because-

- _because you're a coward-_

-she didn't know how he, let alone the rest of his group, would react to it. It was the reason she'd been hiding it from day one. Whether they would understand, and take it in stride or be furious with her for hiding it this long would be a crapshoot, and losing would, at worst, leave her and Clementine a day's walk into the forest, with next to no food and water, and…

No friends.

She couldn't tell him yet. So she kept her mouth shut and tried to imagine that it was the right thing to do.

"Every one'a those people…after they got bit, they all did the same thing." Pete absently ran his hand over his knee – his bad knee, the one he mutilated beyond repair because he thought he had to make a choice – probably still getting used to part of it being missing. "They panicked. They cried. They lost their goddamn shit."

Amelia couldn't pretend that she was better than any of them, these people Pete was talking about. When it was her time – or so she'd thought – she couldn't say she'd stared death in the face with unwavering eyes and a brave heart, like she would have expected from some superhero. Maybe Clementine thought she did. Only because she hadn't been there. Not for the worst of it.

Pete cleared his throat, then lapsed into a cough. It came easier. Amelia could tell by listening. "Back in that truck, I wasn't much better. Always thought I would be. But sittin' there for hours, knowin' your life is gonna end and there are people you're never gonna say goodbye to…it does a number on your pride. You don't care anymore. You just want to live.

"I said to your sister…said to a little girl… 'I don't wanna die, Clementine.' Like some kinda…"

Pete trailed off, likely not because he didn't have words to use, but because he didn't want to admit that any of those words now applied to him.

"I'm not…one of those idiots who can't do a damn thing for themselves. I…got scared. I did. But I'm not…" He looked up. Stopped trailing off mid-sentence and went back to talking like the person she knew him to be. The hard-ass of an old man who could see bullshit a mile away and thought indecision was for morons. "I ain't one of those idiots."

 _Tell him how scared you got._

Something inside her started the train again. Threw too much coal on the fire and ripped out brake lever, sending it barreling out of control while she was belted down somewhere onboard.

 _Tell him about the way you ran crying to Kenny, as if there was anything he could have done to save you. A miracle in his pocket, a reset button that could give you your life back._

 _Tell him about the way you panicked, and refused to accept that Clementine was going to have to move on without you. That you couldn't protect her anymore. You'd taken her as far as you could, and now her life would be in the hands of other people and you were never, ever going to see her again._

 _Tell him about how you took it out on the Stranger. You had a chance, a chance you were too stupid to take. You had the gun to his head and you put it down because you wanted to hit him, and hit him again, and again, and again, because, to you, at the moment, all of this was his fault. His fault you were dying. His fault you had to be left behind. A bullet in the head was too good for him and you thought you could take him because you were so angry you forgot how weak you were. You threw your gun down to start a fistfight you couldn't finish._

 _And you were lucky Clementine picked it up._

 _Tell him you cried when you told her to leave without you. Tell him that even as you did, you were still holding back while you told her where to go, told her how much you love her one last time and then, once she was gone you let loose and cried so hard you couldn't breathe. You writhed on the floor handcuffed to a radiator and screamed until you couldn't feel anything anymore._

Amelia sat quietly, and waited for it to pass. Her nightmares could only play themselves on repeat for so long at a time. She tried hard not to cry in the meantime. Pete's voice brought her back to their spot in the forest.

"Some shit happens to you and suddenly everyone thinks you're 'special.'" Pete wrinkled his nose and scowled at the word. "Everyone thinks you need help with shit you never needed help with before and…" Another scowl. "I don't need help walkin'. I'm gonna gut-punch the next person who tries to help me walk."

 _So, Nick._

Amelia understood. Like everyone else, she had her sources of anger and poor ways of dealing with them.

They stayed there, in a silence, that, for sitting on the forest floor, up in the middle of nowhere on a desperate flight into the mountains, was comfortable. Neither of them spoke and neither of them felt the need to. No one moved until they heard footsteps. Voices that belonged to people they knew, flashlights sweeping the trees and about to stumble onto them at any second.

Amelia pushed herself up. Crossed to Pete and offered him a hand, which he took.

She leaned back, trying her hardest to help pull him up while he struggled to stand. Once he was on his feet, dusting himself off, she sighed.

"You know it means he loves you, right?"

Pete threw the dust from his jacket sleeves with long, rough sweeps of his hand. He sighed reluctantly. "Yeah," he said, aware that, for all his nephew's hovering, if he wasn't around to bother him Pete would wish he was. "I know it does."

They returned to the camp, and met Nick and Luke on their way out to look for them. Nick immediately helicoptered around his uncle, throwing him rapid-fire questions _where did you go are you okay do you need anything let me help you sit down_. And though he'd been doing it all day, and would do it again later, Pete didn't yell at him this time.

* * *

1:32 am

Night fell. The group laid out their tarps and sleeping bags under a dark sky. Their only light came from the stars and a moon heavily concealed by thick clouds; they wouldn't be making campfires on their walk into the mountains. Not at night. No campfires and no guns. These were Carlos' rules, which the group had agreed on unanimously. There was no point in running from Carver's men if they sent up a smoke signal of their location every night.

Amelia had volunteered to take the first watch. She didn't know when someone would be coming to take her place, and she almost didn't want them to. When the group packed everything up, there hadn't been enough blankets and tarps left for Amelia and Clementine to have one. Amelia realized shortly after leaving the cabin that, if she didn't want to sleep on the ground, she was going to have to ask someone to share.

Four hours into her watch, she was about to take the ground.

No one in the group seemed to notice that she needed one, aside from Clementine. Clem had asked her where she would be sleeping. Amelia told her the truth: she didn't know. For most of the day, it had been the last thing on her mind.

Amelia sat far enough from the group to feel she was alone, despite knowing she wasn't. She laced her fingers together, raised her arms above her head and stretched, looking out at the forest with two handguns within reach; her own in the center of her crossed legs, and Luke's resting in the grass at her side. He'd asked her to hold onto it while he slept. Something about sleeping with a loaded gun on his person apparently made him uncomfortable, which Amelia didn't understand. She couldn't sleep without one.

Still, when he held it out to her, she took it with a nod so he, Nick, and Rebecca could take the first sleeping shift. He slept on his side, curled up in something close to a fetal position, which Amelia found endearing in a man his age. Clementine shared the lower half of his tarp, sleeping perpendicular to him and using his legs as a pillow.

Amelia smiled. Clementine was able to sleep, despite the cold. One less thing to worry about.

And it was cute.

Which she wouldn't admit at gunpoint.

Bushes rustled a few yards away. She switched on the flashlight she'd been given, sweeping a spotlight over – where she'd thought – she saw the brush move. The bushes were still and quiet for a full count of five…and a squirrel scurried out of the branches. Stood up on its hind legs, looked around.

She sighed, and mustered the will to shoo it away, albeit unenthusiastically. "Shoo." She propped her head up on one hand, and lazily waved with the other, hoping the motion would scare it off. "You don't have to go home but you can't stay here." The squirrel tilted its head at her, twitching its nose and making its tiny whiskers jump. Amelia stared back, debating whether she'd be able to catch it for food. _…nah._ "Fuck off." She pointed the flashlight at it and rapidly switched the light on and off. The flashing light startled it into a jump, then a frantic scurry back into the bushes it came from.

She was rethinking whether she should've tried to catch it-

 _-could've brained it with a rock, or something-_

-when low voice spoke, just behind her.

"Good job." She twisted around to see Nick coming to sit by her. He took a seat on the ground and said, "Don't know what we'd do without you scaring away all the critters."

The moment had crept up on her as quietly as Nick did. She didn't realize it was coming until it was already here, and now her chance to thank him for what he did was sitting patiently in front of her, apathetic to the fact that she had no idea how to bring it up.

Amelia thought it was her turn to break the silence. "I thought you were asleep."

"Can't." Nick crossed his legs in the long silence that followed. "Are you okay?"

She almost laughed. "You're asking me?" _After your uncle? After you almost bit it because of me?_

"Looks like it." He waited. Then, when she didn't answer. "So?"

"Fine."

"That was convincing."

She knew it wasn't.

She knew all she had to do was say it. But something else tugged at her, reminding her it wouldn't be that easy because she didn't just want to thank him. She wanted to know why. She had to know, had to ask, and it would be much harder to say. Nick gave a long, open-mouthed yawn.

 _Can't sleep, huh?_

She doubted he was in the mood to be interrogated about the choice he made to save her life. He probably wanted a simple "thank you." Why else would he have come over here?

She wanted to know. She really, really did. But she thought maybe she should consider it the best way to thank him; to see that he probably didn't want to talk about it, and leave it alone.

Amelia drew a breath, one she was going to let out in saying _thank you for saving my life_ and leave it at that, when Nick stood up abruptly.

"Come on."

Amelia looked up at him. _Um…what?_

He repeated himself when she didn't move or speak. "Come on. Get up."

"And do what?"

"Come with me." He said impatiently, looking over his shoulder and getting more frustrated with every second she refused to move. "I found something you're going to want to see, just…come on."

"I'm on watch."

"Not anymore. Now it's Alvin."

Amelia twisted in her spot, to look where Nick was pointing. Alvin had picked up a rifle and taken up a position on the other side of camp. Now, with him and Carlos, they had three people when two were needed.

"You coming or not?" Nick said. "You don't have anything better to do."

 _He's got you there._

She stood up, checked on Clementine – who was still asleep – and decided not to ask where they were going. He probably wouldn't have told her if she had.

* * *

2:31 am

"Alright…" Nick said, dragging his words out while he was thinking. Then it came to him. "Alright, okay…"

"Spit it out," Amelia said with genuine impatience. The two walked side-by-side, the forest in front of them lit by their flashlights. The sky was a dark navy blue that permitted them a little bit of light – not like the black nights Amelia preferred not to think about – so that they could see their surroundings. Not much more than ambiguous shadows and tree trunks.

"The most fucked up thing you've ever done to one of them. Let's hear it." Nick said, a smug edge in his voice. He must've been confident that this one would be hard for her to answer.

He was going to be disappointed.

Amelia thought of a dozen examples right away, conjured images of golf clubs and flat screen televisions and electric fences. She decided on one just make it quick.

"I crushed one of their heads in a car door once." Over and over and over.

Nick snorted a laugh. "Damn. That's hardcore. I should watch my back if you're that hardcore." His chuckling told just how ridiculous he found the idea; Amelia got the sense he was laughing at her, not with her.

Amelia rolled her eyes without a smile, despite knowing he wouldn't see it. "It attacked me. My gun was empty."

"Oh…" He feigned sudden understanding, which made her certain he was mocking her. "Did you break a nail? I hope not."

Her voice was dry and quiet. "You're hysterical." When he went quiet, she reminded him, "Your turn." After asking her a question like that, he wasn't about to get away without answering it himself.

That, and she found herself genuinely wanting to know.

"I, uh…" he hesitated, and Amelia thought she could hear shame. He cleared his throat, and Amelia knew stalling when she heard it. "I…bashed one of their heads in with a bat…until it was just…gone. It died after the second hit, but I didn't stop." He went quiet again. For a few seconds, the only sound was the the rhythmic crunching of dead leaves beneath their footsteps. "I didn't want to."

She didn't have anything to say. It wasn't her place to judge his actions, not with the death toll she had hanging over her own head.

Nick rubbed his arm, maybe embarrassed that he'd said so much already. Which left Amelia wondering, if he was embarrassed, why was he telling her any of this? She'd asked, but she didn't have a gun to his head.

"I…kind of went on a tear after…after my mom."

She understood. Maybe it didn't look like it, to people who didn't stop to think about it, to try to feel what he'd been feeling. She understood that violence had a way of looking senseless, in any context. But sometimes it was something she could accept; sense couldn't bring back her dead parents. Sense couldn't save friends she'd already lost. Death had become too familiar. A constant threat, a vulture perched on her shoulders, always threatening to take away the only things she felt she had to live for. It was cruel, and fast, and would sweep in to take another loved one away in its talons because Amelia turned her back for too long, or forgot to reload her gun, or…needed saving. Her new reality had one truth, one rule with an infinitely cruel caveat: she was allowed to have friends, if she wanted. But she would always have to remember that she'd never be able to hold onto them forever. Sooner or later, each of them would slip away and absolutely nothing she or anyone could do about it. It had happened once. It would happen again. What was there left to do?

Scream. Break things. Take it out on something before she took it out on herself.

She didn't want to say all that to Nick. It would have hurt to form the words and she was very sure he already knew. So she said quietly, "I understand."

"I think you're the only one who does."

Amelia looked at him, knowing he likely wouldn't see her in the dark. "What-?"

"We're here." He said, speeding up to walk ahead of her. "This is it." He stood aside, so she could see.

A shed, not unlike the one they'd spent the previous night in. Looking at it from the outside, it might have been bigger.

Amelia remembered passing, about an hour before the group had stopped to camp for the night. They'd stopped to search it over for supplies and didn't find anything useful. After that, they'd moved on and she hadn't thought of it since. It was far enough off the path that she wondered how Nick had been able to find it again. Maybe a sense of direction like his was a perk of growing up in rural backwoods.

She gave him an unamused look and waited for him to explain.

"After you." He said. When she didn't move, he went to the door gestured for her to come in while he held it open.

Amelia was quiet for what felt like a long time.

"If you're going to kill me, could you just do it? Because I really don't need the buildup."

Nick humored her with an unenthusiastic pity laugh. "Ha."

Amelia walked into the shed, despite still not understanding what they were here for. She'd already seen what was inside. They all had. Nothing but miscellaneous junk. She shined her flashlight over the bare wood-panel walls, across crates and empty bottles and collapsed camping tents.

"You walked an hour for this?" she said, sweeping her light over what looked like a Walkman.

Nick came in after her, letting the door shut gently behind them. "We did," he corrected her, gesturing between the two of them. "Joint mistake."

"You're serious." She said incredulously, kicking the MP3 player aside. The floor was covered in some kind of garbage or another; there was nowhere to walk without stepping on _something_.

"Where did you think we were going?" he asked. "You knew nothing else was out here."

"I told you." she looked back at him with a straight face. "I thought you were planning to kill me."

"Ha." Nick picked up a small folding table, sending a waterfall of dust and dirt and pebbles sliding off of it when he did. He propped it up, and started looking around the shed floor for something else.

Amelia realized she was standing on a pair of headphones. The wire had been ripped out and she'd cracked them in half when she stepped on them. _People have been using this place as a dump,_ she thought. Travelers passing through would find the shed, comb it over for something useful, and drop the things they didn't want to carry anymore. Unless Nick had walked all this way for a torn hammock and a moldy ironing board, it was time to turn back. She was more agitated at herself than she was at him; she should've known better than to take his word for it when he said it was worth seeing.

"Here we go…" Nick bent to pick something up and Amelia heard clinking glass. He started lining up empty bottles – some of them already broken – setting them up like an incomplete bowling pyramid. When he was finished, he took a step back and gestured his flashlight to the table, as if Amelia was supposed to know what that meant.

She looked at him expectantly, wondering how long he would stand there without explaining. Maybe he was waiting for her to ask. So she did.

"What the hell?"

"You said breaking stuff is more fun. Let's do it." He pointed his light at the table again. "You can take the first shot."

He was serious. He was actually serious. Her first thought was _no._ Her second was _we're not doing this. You're crazy and I'm crazy for following you out here._

This was a bad idea...wasn't it? They'd already wandered an hour from the camp. And they would be an hour out whether or not they did this. She'd done worse on a whim.

She took Hilda from her back, keeping the handle in a tight grip. She kept a cautious eye on Nick as she put herself in a batting position in front of the bottles, knowing he was watching her and feeling scrutinized by the fact that she couldn't read his thoughts.

Was he judging her? Setting her up to act like a violent basket case so he could laugh at her when she did?

 _No. He's a jerk sometimes. But he's not a mean person._ A mean heart – one that was genuinely cruel and broken – was easy to spot and hard to fake. Nick didn't have one.

So what was he getting at? She felt strange, floating in an intermediate limbo of not caring what he thought of her and wanting desperately for him not to see her…the way she saw herself. She felt that doing this would share things about herself she'd never intended for him to know, that showing him how dysfunctional she could get would bring her closer to him than she'd ever intended to be.

She found herself wondering where his boundaries were. Sure, he was encouraging her to do it now, but how much violence and emotional baggage could he witness and still understand? She hesitated to do anything because she didn't know where his line was, and didn't want to cross it.

He cleared his throat. "Sometime tonight, would be good."

Fuck it.

She took a swing. Sharp, fast, one shoulder to the other. Threw Hilda's blade smack into the glass and sent it rocketing into the wall. It broke twice – once when she hit it and again, into tiny pieces when it hit the shed wall.

"Nice!" Nick grinned with crossed arms.

 _That was…awesome._

And there it was.

A rush, a little one that would get bigger if she did it again, and bigger still if she kept going. She didn't expect it to hit her as hard as it did. She'd forgotten how exciting it was to be reckless, after years of being careful every minute of every day because her life depended on it, to let something out, _finally_ , after years of keeping all the baggage to herself so as not to burden her sister with it.

She decided that this had been a good idea. Take it all out on breakable objects, not people, not herself. No harm done.

"Go again." Nick nodded toward the bottles. He seemed to think she enjoyed it.

 _Seems to think? You're about to start giggling like a schoolgirl. Tone it down._

She took her shot, almost before he finished talking. Swing. Whack. Smash. A clean hit. Shattered glass.

She laughed this time. The relief was liberating. The weight lifting from her shoulders made her feel like she could breathe again.

He smiled back. "It's that much fun, huh? Think I can get a turn?"

She held the ice pick out to him with a nod. The sooner he took his turn the sooner she could go again.

She stepped back, out of the way while he wound up his swing. With a grunt he launched the bottle from the table _easily_ twice as hard as she had. Broken glass scattered across the floor, filling the otherwise silent shed with gentle _clinks_ as they did.

"That was our last one," he said, straightening up and turning around to look at her.

Shame. Amelia liked breaking glass. She found the Walkman at her feet and picked it up. She held it out to Nick without a word. Only a smirk on her face, hiding an ear-to-ear smile.

His own smile spread across his face when he realized what she meant. He took one, two steps back. "Pull!"

She lobbed it into the air, and he destroyed it with a well-timed swing. Plastic and metal went flying, and Amelia flinched to take cover from it. Buttons popped out of place and skittered across the floor.

Amelia wanted to clap, jump up and down, insist that it was her turn again. She only did the last. "Switch," she held a hand out, and after he gave Hilda back to her he picked up a walkie talkie, one with no antenna and no other walkie to pair with it. Amelia started to hear a voice she thought she'd forgotten, one muffled and broken up by static as it greeted her eerily and quietly.

"Pull,"

Nick gave her an easy shot, straight up into the air and arced gently at her; static popped again in her ears. _Hello, Ameli-_

She wasn't gentle with her swing. The walkie talkie beelined for the wall, and both she and Nick ducked for cover as it broke into far-flying, useless pieces.

 _That's what he gets._

Amelia didn't leave a pause to wonder if they should keep going. She already knew the answer. She turned around looking for something else to break and decided on the ironing board. She kicked it its dead center, putting a sharp dent in its middle and sending it to the floor.

Nick picked up a folding chair, gripping it under the back and hurling it into the wall with one arm.

She picked up a wooden tent pole and broke it over her knee, making him laugh.

He kicked a toaster on the floor – a plugin toaster, of all things – up into the wall like a soccer ball. It hit the wall hard and came back to him at an angle, hitting the floor by his feet with a massive dent and a now-missing dial. She asked him to do it again. He did.

She enjoyed being destructive, liked taking her turn for once, when she spent her days running from destructive people, trying to keep them away from the one thing in the world she still loved. Putting herself between them and Clementine, because _better me than her_. She destroyed one object for every outstanding thing that left her feeling powerless and furious, listening to Nick be just as destructive in the background.

Clementine barely remembered their parents.

She might have put her sister in grave danger, taken on problems that would have consequences for the two of them because Amelia got selfish and wanted to have friends again.

She knew something that might make everyone in her new group despise her. It would only get worse with each day she continued to hide it.

She was out on a five-day trek through the woods and she _fucking hated camping._

Any and all of it was fair. Valid. For once, it was okay to feel and okay to lash out.

She shattered something for all the nights she'd been unable to find Clementine something to eat. Something for every mistake she regretted dearly and wished she could take back.

One for every friend she'd seen die.

One for Nick's mom.

One for her mom.

One for all the goodbyes that should have been said, and weren't.

It didn't change any of it. Didn't undo what was already done, didn't bring anyone back, but it made her feel better. Which, she decided, was worth something in itself.

* * *

3:12 am

In the aftermath, they stood quietly, both knowing it was time to leave. Amelia found Hilda and reattached it to her back. Nick picked up his hat from the floor. He held the door for her on their way out. She muttered a thank you, he quietly answered, "sure," and other than that, no one said a word until they reached the camp.


	12. Linda

6:09 am

Clementine's voice shook Amelia out of an empty sleep. The surprise almost threw her off-balance; she was situated in the higher branches of a short pine tree, her back leaning into a large fork in the trunk and her legs spread out to find sturdy holds on the limbs around her.

She realized she'd dreamt of nothing in the few hours she'd been asleep. The first time in…a very long time that her sleep had been silent and peaceful, rather than a train wreck of memories and disorienting voices, belonging both to people she'd loved and people she'd hated.

Clementine stood below, on the ground. Next to Luke.

 _Jesus. Do you go anywhere without him?_

"I was about to start throwing pebbles at you." Clementine informed her.

Amelia sat up. Her backpack, which she'd put behind her to act as a pillow, dropped to the ground. Neither of them moved to pick it up.

So things were still tense, after last night. She didn't know why she'd expected a few hours and a sunrise to make everyone forget. Maybe she'd been hoping more than expecting.

"We're moving out in five." Luke told her.

Amelia sat up further and stretched. She sighed. He didn't need to come all the way over here to tell her that. Whatever he really wanted to talk about couldn't have been good. She wondered if he would do it in front of Clementine, or wait for her to leave.

She swung her legs over the edge of her makeshift bed and followed her backpack, landing on bent knees and slowly standing upright. She tilted her head to one side, then the other, trying to pop a crick in her neck.

"That couldn't have been comfortable," Luke said.

 _More comfortable than sleeping in the camp._ She hitched the bag over her shoulder and asked Clementine, "Are you coming?" as she moved to pass Luke and rejoin the group.

Luke held up a hand. "I'll just come out and say it then. Last night was rough, I know that."

That was one way to put it.

 _Nick finally spoke to her when they could see the camp, the first words either of them had spoken in the last hour._

 _He sighed, preemptively frustrated. "Here we go."_

" _What does that mean?" Looking ahead, Amelia saw the group's flashlights, cutting through the dark and homing in on the two of them as the others watched them approach._

 _Nick cut her a sideways look. He scratched the back of his head, adjusted his hat as they walked. Took a slight step away from her. It was small, but not so subtle that she didn't catch it. "They're gonna be pissed. I hope they make it fast." He mumbled. "Really don't want to deal with it."_

" _Why would they-"_

 _Pete's voice blared through the darkness. They could see him, see his face and see how livid he was only when they got close enough that they were no longer blinded by his flashlight. "Where the hell have you two been?"_

 _Nick's answer was quick, and defensive. "On a walk."_

"' _On a walk?' Did you really just look at me and tell me you were on a goddamn walk?"_

 _Carlos cut in, his light aimed at the ground, while Pete had his in their faces like an interrogation lamp. A Good Cop-Bad Cop routine with two Bad Cops, and they were both Pete. "Were you followed?" he demanded, his voice sharp and severe._

" _No." Nick answered honestly. "Can I just take my watch-"_

" _Are you sure?" Carlos asked again, anger bubbling somewhere beneath the surface of his voice. "Nick, if anyone followed you…"_

" _No one followed us." Amelia insisted. "I'm sure of it." She frowned, looking between the two of them and trying to understand. They hadn't told anyone they were leaving. Was that the problem, or was it the fact that they left?_

" _I'm used to seein' you do stupid shit," Pete pointed a finger at his nephew, then moved it to Amelia. "But I expected better from you."_

 _Immediately, she became defensive. Walls up. Guns out. "You expected something from me?"_

" _Yeah, Amelia, I did. And you're makin' me regret it more with every word outta your mouth."_

 _Luke stepped in from somewhere, arms crossed. Amelia rolled her eyes. Not this guy, too._

" _We had no idea where you were. Didn't know what happened to you or if you were comin' back."_

" _Not you, too, Luke," Nick groaned. "Come on, give me a break,"_

" _Amelia?" Clementine had woken up while they'd been gone, and joined the conversation carefully. "What were you doing?"_

" _Nothing worth talking about," she said. Nick turned and looked directly at her. Didn't try to hide it or make it look like something else._

" _Did you really just say that?"_

 _Suddenly Amelia was alone, the common target of everyone's anger. Each person she looked at had a reason to yell at her, including the one she'd thought was…maybe not on her side, but at least in the same boat she was._

"… _no, I just…"_

" _Forget it," he dismissed her, walking away and shouldering roughly past his uncle._

" _You think we're done, here?" Pete snapped, turning to call after him._

" _Yeah, I think we're done," Nick said over his shoulder, picking up a gun and sitting down at the camp's edge._

That had been the start.

"I'll forget about it if you do." She said dismissively. That was that. "Clem, come on." She gestured for her sister to follow her; she wouldn't admit to herself that it was because she didn't want them talking about her once she left.

Luke crossed his arms, but his gentle expression gave him away, as did the tone of his voice. "I just want to let you know, we talked things over and we realized…we didn't have all the information last night."

"What does that mean?"

"It was Clementine, actually. She gave us a lot to think about."

Amelia slid a wary glance to her sister. How well things would work out from here depended entirely on what she'd said last night. She quickly shook her sense of dread, reminding herself that if there was anyone she could trust in this group – in the world – it was Clementine. If she could've chosen someone to speak for her last night, she wouldn't have had it any other way.

Luke seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "She told us to consider the way you two used to live. You know, without anyone around to be affected by it when you go missing…or to wonder where you are." He seemed to be trying not to say the word "worry." He looked to Clementine, either for a reminder of what to say or for moral support, given the way Amelia was looking at him. "That's true, right?"

"Yes."

"You could've told us that." Luke said. His anger from the night before was gone. Unlike Amelia, he seemed capable of letting it go, and didn't carry any remnants of it into a new day. "Why didn't you?"

"It didn't seem like it would make a difference." Amelia stood by that. It wouldn't have, coming from her.

 _Pete regarded Amelia with crossed arms. She shifted under Carlos' glare and avoided eye contact. What was it he'd said? Don't make any more mistakes?_

" _You're tellin' me you didn't see any problem with walkin' off like that? Disappearing for three fuckin' hours?"_

" _I'm telling you it didn't seem like a problem at the time," Amelia answered, trying and failing to keep the sharpness out of her own voice._

Clementine came up to stand next to Amelia. "I told them that you had to go places alone all the time when it was just us, because it was too dangerous for me to go with you. And I told them after all that time looking out for me by yourself, you should be allowed to make a mistake."

Amelia smiled at her sister, and didn't expect to feel so much so suddenly. But the moments in which she felt understood and forgiven were few and far between, and she was afraid that if she tried to thank Clementine for what she did, she would get choked up before she could get the words out.

She looked to the ground, staring at three pairs of shoes, and shook her head.

"I didn't think I was putting anyone in danger." _Was that close enough to an apology_? _Probably not._

"You put yourself in danger." Luke said. "Isn't that a good enough reason not to do it?"

Amelia lifted a shoulder, shrugging off the question in the process. "I understand now." She avoided eye contact. "So it won't…happen again."

"That's all we wanted to hear," he smiled. "I'll go tell them."

"Pete was pretty angry last night."

"Even he calms down with time. Just…be careful around the others for a while."

Amelia understood. "Thin ice."

"Not at all." Luke said. Amelia thought she saw a smile that barely made it to the surface; the constant walking and sleeping in shifts must've been catching up with him. "We all screw up, all the time. I told you from the beginning we're not perfect. And neither are you, which means you fit right in."

Amelia nodded and said quietly, "…thanks."

"So, anyway…" Luke cracked his knuckles, seeming hesitant. "Five minutes." He frowned, and something changed in the tone of this voice, something that told her he wasn't talking only about the night before. "Are you alright, Amelia?"

She wanted to ask _him_ that. She wanted say a lot of things. None of them came out. So she nodded.

He didn't look like he believed her, but by now he knew better than to ask again. He nodded in return and left to rejoin the group.

When Clementine moved to follow him, Amelia spoke up.

"Hey. Thanks."

Clem turned back. She raised an eyebrow, and said without smiling, "Did you think I wasn't going to have your back?"

"I wasn't really thinking at all." Amelia threw an arm behind her head and pressed her elbow down, stretching as she fell into step with her sister. The hand she put on her own back reflexively reached for Hilda's handle, which wasn't there.

Right.

 _Pete held out a hand, and he didn't have to speak for Amelia to know what he meant._

" _You're not serious."_

" _What about me makes you think I'm not serious?"_

 _She gripped the strap with a hand across her shoulders, turning away defensively. He couldn't have Hilda. It was hers. Not hers, but…in her care. "…I'm not giving it to you."_

" _I'd let you keep it if I thought I didn't have to keep an eye on you. On top of everything else."_

" _That's not true. You know I can handle myself." She'd shown him. More than once._

" _I can't trust your judgment, and that's just as dangerous. Hand it over and take a seat. I ain't tellin' you again."_

 _She didn't want to know what he meant, what came after "ain't tellin' you again." A part of her wanted to keep it, to dare him to show her because Hilda was hers and she didn't let just anyone borrow it._

 _But she decided she'd caused enough trouble for one night. Pushed enough boundaries._

 _It didn't stop her from glaring at him as she handed it over. Pete gripped it by the handle and glared right back._

" _Don't you start."_

 _Amelia turned sharply, hitching her backpack over her shoulder and going fast for a tree on the outskirts of the clearing. She wanted to be alone for the night._

"Amelia," Clementine pulled her back to the clearing. "What were you and Nick doing in the woods?"

Amelia had been expecting to hear this question. Just not so soon. She dropped her arms and started rolling her head side to side. Something in her neck popped loudly.

"Nothing worth talking about."

"You said that last night."

"I did." Amelia said. "Are you hungry?"

"No," Clem said, looking quickly to her left. _Pssssh._ _That's a yes._ She crossed her arms as they walked. Tilted her head. "Why won't you tell me?"

The two were fast approaching the group. Luke stood with his back to them, speaking with Carlos. Alvin was crouched in front of Rebecca, who was sitting on a tree stump. Sarah was off by herself, though not far. Amelia noticed that Nick wasn't there.

"We went back to that old shed and broke stuff." She decided that her sister, of everyone in their group deserved an answer if she wanted one.

"Like what?"

"Like everything."

"Hm." Clementine said, sounding like she was thinking it over.

Amelia almost smiled. "You sound like you don't believe me."

Clementine stopped and looked at her, with no trace of a joke in her eyes. "Of course I believe you. You never lie to me." Then she noticed the look on her sister's face. "…is that…all you did?"

"…"

Luke interrupted by addressing the entire group. "Alright everyone. Let's head out."

Amelia knew better than to ask where Nick was. He came out of the trees a moment later; Luke held a rifle up, which Nick took as he passed him without making eye contact.

"You good?" Luke asked.

"Yeah, fine." Nick walked ahead of the group, starting into the woods without checking that the rest of the group was following.

As they set out, Amelia left Clementine for just a moment, to speak with Pete. She found him cramming a sleeping bag into a backpack, one that was near-empty because, like her, his food supply had hit bottom.

He didn't turn to address her, so she started the conversation herself. "I'd like my stuff back and I'm sorry."

Pete zipped the bag shut and turned, revealing Hilda strapped to his belt and hanging by his side. "That's as good as it's gonna get, isn't it?"

"I mean it, if that helps."

He sighed, and unhooked it, holding it out to her by the blade so she could take the handle. "I don't want you to be sorry, Amelia. You're a smart girl. Just want you to act like it."

She nodded. She didn't want to argue anymore. She kept in mind that if it were really true, she'd make it a point not to stir the pot again.

Turning around to follow the group, she saw that Clementine wasn't where she'd left her, and didn't have to look far to realize she'd found Luke in the thirty seconds Amelia had been gone.

"I told you she'd do it first," she said to him.

"Alright then," Luke said, smiling at her as she fell into step next to him. "First candy bar I find is yours."

"With peanuts?"

"With peanuts."

Amelia decided not to join them, and walked behind them instead.

* * *

11:44 am

She didn't have to tell the entire group. If she told just one person, the information would get around. Whether she wanted it to or not.

" _Will you at least think about it?"_ _Clementine asked, walking alongside her sister._

" _You understand why we couldn't tell them at the cabin." Amelia said, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Please tell me you understand."_

 _Clementine shrugged. "We're not at the cabin anymore."_

Amelia had run through the list of potential candidates in her head, and only afterward admitted to herself that she'd done it to kill time. To stall. Because she knew as well as Clementine that only one person in the group was approachable enough for her to even consider it.

" _I know you haven't talked to him much," Clementine said. "But he's really nice, Amelia. He won't…freak out."_

 _Amelia didn't respond. She crossed her arms and ran the words over in her mind. Watched Luke walking at the head of the group and tried to imagine him "not freaking out."_

 _Clem sighed at her sister's silence. "You don't have to trust him yet. Just trust me. He'll understand."_

The group had made another stop. Amelia watched Alvin help Rebecca sit down on a fallen tree, Carlos sit down with Sarah, Nick start an argument with Pete, Clementine run over to Luke…and realized she was the only one standing, staring, doing nothing.

Stalling.

She decided one way or another, that it had to stop. She saw Luke crouch to talk to Clem at her height, then take his backpack from his shoulders and lift a sealed gallon jug of water from inside it. Amelia knew it was their last one. She made her way toward them – Clementine saw her coming after her first few steps – and by the time she got to them Luke was refilling Clementine's empty plastic bottle.

"Amelia," he said, tipping the gallon jug up when Clem's bottle was full. "Let me see your bottle."

She gave it to him, ignoring the look she got from her sister as he filled it up for her.

"That's, uh…" Amelia hesitated as she took it back. "That's the last one, right?" A quarter of it was already gone. After being split among the remaining seven people – Amelia doubted it would even stretch that far – that would be it. No more water. She tried to imagine how long they could make one bottle apiece last.

Not three days.

"Yep." He twisted the cap back on. "We'll distribute this out to the rest of the-"

"I'll do it!" Clementine said abruptly. She answered the strange way both Amelia and Luke looked at her with a smile and outstretched hands. "Let me do it."

"Alright…?" Luke handed it to her, not letting go until she seemed to have a grip on it. "You got it?"

"Mhmm." She nodded. She was gone the second he let go.

 _Like the roadrunner,_ Amelia thought. _Zoom._

"Don't take this the wrong way," Luke said, watching her speed-walk across the field, starting her water deliveries with Nick and Pete. She wouldn't have taken it "the wrong way" even without the disclaimer; she doubted he was about to say anything mean. She doubted he'd ever done anything mean in his life. Mean had its purposes. Mean was useful, more often than people realized. Mean was a role she didn't play by choice, but could adapt to, and play well. Better than she wanted to admit.

 _Luke probably couldn't do it if he tried._

"But that kid is…real weird sometimes." He smiled, and she knew without asking that "weird" wasn't a bad thing. Not to him.

Amelia watched Clementine from a distance, and found herself smiling, too. She couldn't disagree and didn't want to. Clem was weird sometimes, to put it bluntly. She was quiet at times, loud at others. Particular about when she chose to speak and what she chose to say. Whip-smart and more grossed out by bugs than by dead bodies.

"She's special." Special was also weird, more often than not.

"Yes she is." He turned back to Amelia. "So what's going on?"

Amelia was suddenly reminded of something she'd told Clementine years before. One summer when they were kids, they'd gone swimming in a particularly cold pool. Amelia had taken the diving board. Clem insisted on stepping into the water, one agonizing inch at a time. Amelia had told her that it was better to jump in. It wouldn't change how cold it was, but it would stop her hesitation. _Once you do it it's too late to turn back._

"I'm just…" _Trying to tell you something because my sister adores you, and swears up and down that telling you won't be a mistake, and I want to believe her, trust me, I do, but she's eleven and she doesn't know how ugly people can get when they're scared._ "Um…"

It had been so long since she'd seen patience like his. So long, that it still surprised her even coming from him.

"Are you alright, Amelia?" he asked, trying to make eye contact as she blatantly refused. "If you need something, just ask."

"It's not that." She said. "I'm just…"

The group might understand why she didn't tell them on the night they met, given the circumstances they were under, sure, but how could she excuse the last two days? She'd heard the group argue. She knew that this group could easily split itself down the middle and be left at a stalemate. And just as easily agree unanimously that she couldn't be trusted, or forgiven. Maybe Clementine was right. Maybe Luke would've been on her side in all of it. But if Luke could single-handedly sway the entire group he wouldn't have locked Clementine in a shed.

Luke waited, and when she didn't offer anything else he prompted, "Just…"

" _Just jump. That way it's too late to change your mind."_

 _And it's too late when you realize there's a broken telephone wire in the pool._

Amelia looked up finally, to meet his eyes. _Right. Eye contact makes you honest._ "Just worried that we're almost out of water. We're…going to have to do something about that."

"Don't worry about it. I got a couple ideas, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

An awkward silence settled in. It came suddenly, but still crept up on them somehow.

"Is that really what you came over here to talk about?"

"Yes."

She turned on her heel and walked away, without any idea what or who she was walking to.

* * *

11:51 am

Amelia wandered from the group. Out of earshot, but not much farther than that. She remembered the night before. She had quite a memory, something that had been a gift, once. Now, there were few prices she wouldn't have paid to be more forgetful.

She remembered the lecture she'd gotten with a scowl. And she remembered the promise she'd made with a reluctant turnaround, directing her wandering back into the clearing.

 _There. Not so hard, is it?_

Turned around to face the rest of the group, Amelia looked out across each of them doing the things she'd come to know them for. They all had consistent habits, she'd realized, and they didn't stray much from them. Every time they stopped for a rest or to sleep for the night, they did the same things, in the same order, in just about the same way.

 _Has it really been this long?_ She thought to herself with an internal scowl. _You're so out of practice coexisting with people you just sit at a distance and observe them like they're a fucking nature documentary?_

Evidently.

Carlos checked on his daughter at least once every five minutes, frequently more often than that. He never turned his back to her for more than a minute at most. Not that she'd ever timed him. Sarah found things to do to occupy herself, small, harmless things – collecting leaves of the same color, playing "I Spy" with Clementine. Amelia could hear that Clem didn't find it as fun. Sarah's "spies" were exclusively centered on people in the group, and almost always involved bright colors, which defeated the purpose of the game.

" _I….spy….something….yellow."_

 _Clementine's guess was dry, and bored. "Is it Amelia's ice pick?"_

" _Okay, okay, how about this one. I spy…something oran-"_

" _Luke's shirt."_

When they ran out of details to point out about the people around them, the game was short-lived.

" _I spy something green."_

 _Clementine pointed to the nearest tree, a thin pine. "Is it that tree?"_

" _No."_

 _She pointed to another, on the other side of the path. "Is it that tree?"_

"… _yeah."_

Alvin always ushered Rebecca to a nice place to sit down, then went into his backpack and got her something to eat and some water to drink, and _always_ pulled them out of the bag in that order. Nick tried to do the same with Pete, though it was never received nearly as well. It almost always sparked an argument within a few minutes, and the argument itself could last up to five. Ten, if it was a bad one. Other than that, Nick didn't talk to anyone much, other than Luke. When the group stopped they'd sit down and have conversations about things Amelia didn't listen to, but she assumed they were fun, given the way they would lighten up. They even laughed, sometimes. She tried to gauge how long they'd known each other-

- _instead of just asking-_

-and decided it must have been a very long time. She wanted to join one of these conversations, but would never have dreamed of actually doing it.

Luke checked the map often enough to make Amelia concerned he had no idea where they were going. He asked Nick to confirm they were on the route he thought they were at least twice a day. She didn't bother to count the number of times he smiled, cracked a mildly funny joke, or asked someone around him, with genuine interest, how they were doing. She didn't have that kind of time.

And Clementine. She talked to Amelia while they walked – not that those conversations were very long – and every time they stopped ran straight to Luke. To ask him questions, to tell him stories, to help him look at the map or pass out food to the group. Any and all of the above. She just liked interacting with him.

Clearly, more than she liked interacting with her.

It left room for insecurities to worm their way into Amelia's mind. And she couldn't help but entertain them, no matter how ridiculous. _Did she only tolerate spending time with me because I was her only option?_ Of course not. _Does she like being around him so much because she's tired of being around me?_ That one was more plausible.

He was a man. He was taller than Amelia. Bigger. Stronger. There was no number of push-ups Amelia could do to match him on that front. Did something about that make Clementine feel safe? Amelia had always kept her safe…more or less. She'd let her guard down before-

- _the static coming from the walkie talkie gives way to a quiet, sinister voice_

" _Hello, Amelia."-_

She'd made mistakes. Grave, life-ending mistakes.

And she'd rectified them.

 _Teeth and nails and grabbing and screaming in a dark hotel room, somewhere deep in the Marsh House. Break a lamp. Knock over a stuffed chair. Crash through a closet door, break it in half, hands around her neck, a head-butt into the bridge of his nose. Throw him back against the wall, rush him because she's not done with him-_

Runaway train.

Still. It had to be a change, watching someone take walkers out, push them away and split their heads open with ease when Amelia's tactics involved more…running. Hiding. Exhausted, blind stabbing. Sleeping in trees.

He was nice. And Amelia…wasn't. He told jokes, and, come to think of it, Amelia didn't know any jokes. Not good ones. She liked to think she wasn't…unbearable. She certainly wasn't mean.

At least not to her sister.

But she was always worried, always planning their next move. Always running on a few hours of sleep, always afraid of every possible thing that might go wrong. It all added up to one thing: she was rarely in a good mood. Almost never patient or in the mood to have a normal conversation. Maybe that was it. He was fun to be around. Amelia had forgotten that Clem was a kid, and kids appreciated fun more than she realized. They needed it more than ever, with the world the way it was.

So what was it she needed to change?

She stopped, frozen in her tracks mentally and physically. She smelled something. As strange and sudden as it was, a breeze carried a _very specific_ smell straight into her face. She couldn't place it but she knew it didn't quite belong out here. It was sharp. Rancid. Almost sweet and very familiar.

She understood. Turned around immediately and took off into the trees at a fast walk. If she could smell it from here, it couldn't be far.

* * *

11:59 am

She approached the tree minutes later, confident that the group would understand why she walked off again as she stepped over the dead fruit on the ground. There were easily a hundred of them in the dirt, surrounding the trunk in a five-foot radius. She crushed them as she walked, breaking brittle red skins and squishing what was left of their soft insides under her shoes. The smell was acrid and hard to miss. The smell of fermenting fruit. Rotten apples.

There were hundreds on the ground…and two in the tree.

Two good ones. Bright and round and up high – apparently, too high to be reached by whoever had picked the tree clean.

 _But not too high for me._

Amelia tilted her head sharply, popping her neck. Laced her fingers together and turned her hands out, cracking every one of her knuckles at once.

Clementine loved apples.

She stepped up to one of the lowest branches. Reached above her head, hopped up, grabbed it with both hands. Swung her legs forward, back, forward, back. Did a pull-up on a forward swing, pulling her upper body above the branch and letting her legs ride the momentum up with her. She straddled the branch, looked to see how far she was off the ground – six feet or so – and straightened up to see someone had followed her out here.

Nick regarded her with his hands in his pockets. He took in their surroundings and nodded. Looked up at her.

"The hell are you doing?"

Amelia didn't answer. She shot him a look instead. This wasn't how she'd expected their first conversation after the night in the shed to start. That is, if they ever spoke in private again, which she didn't know that they would.

Nick shrugged. Looked around again. Looked to the ground and kicked an apple carcass, maybe expecting it to roll. It didn't go anywhere, and just smeared on the bottom of his shoe. Amelia would have expected herself to ignore him and keep climbing. But discomfort had settled into the space between them, like birds in the eaves. There was something to be said and neither one of them wanted to be the one to say it.

But both wanted it said, so where did that leave them?

Nick surprised her by speaking first. "Are you mad at me?"

Amelia tilted her head. Was she? She had a reason to be, but was she? "You got me in trouble."

"So this doesn't have to do with…"

Amelia realized what he was asking. Broke eye contact left, then right. "…no."

Nick grinned. Seemed to be holding back a laugh. At her, not with her. "So this isn't about…all that…it's because Carlos and my uncle yelled at you when we got back?"

Amelia didn't find anything about it funny. She was trying. Maybe it didn't look like it to people other than her sister, but she was. Laughing was easy for someone who was already accepted by the people he traveled with. Who already had a place with them.

"I don't know how you do things here. You said, 'let's go for a walk.' I assumed it wouldn't get me in trouble." She looked down and found herself picking at the bark of the branch she sat on. "I trusted you."

"Well that was stupid."

Amelia got both feet flat on the branch, and carefully rose to stand on it. She caught the branches above her and used the forks in the tree's trunk to climb up to the branches above, then another step to get to the branches above that.

 _Get up. Higher. Just get away from him._

"Okay," Nick said, and repeated himself louder when he realized she was ignoring him " _Okay_." He came toward the tree, looking up at a sharper angle to talk to her. "Okay, wait."

She stopped, three branches up and her hands on the trunk. It was a twenty-foot drop, easily. He looked short from this height. It was a change from the way he normally towered over her by at least six inches. Over Luke, even, by a few less than that.

Nick threw his arms out before bringing them back in, and crossing them over his chest. "My social skills are crap, too. I'm sorry. I just…my uncle is…he's not…okay. And he's driving me insane, and…" he shook his head, and to his credit, started to smile. Just a little. Amelia noticed it because she was paying more attention to him than she'd have liked to admit. He'd been sincere for a fleeting minute. Now he was letting her in on a joke, and hoping she would go along with it. "If I can't talk to someone who gets it, I'm going to lose my mind."

Amelia didn't answer right away. She shifted in the branches and tried to figure out how sincere he was.

Nick slid his hands back into his pockets. "So? You…don't want to see me do that, right?"

Amelia wondered if he was staring at her and running his hand over his jaw on purpose, if he was using his eyes and his five o'clock shadow to get her to smile back. She decided he wasn't. It was something Luke might've done, no question. Luke was an infuriating and endearing hybrid of modesty and conceit, all wrapped up in a twenty-something Southern gentleman. Luke, by his age, had to be aware of what he looked like, what a well-timed smile could do to the women around him. Unlike Nick, who was the opposite of his friend in just about every way Amelia could think of, including this one. Nick's charm existed in the fact that he didn't seem to think he had any.

Overt and intentional, or subtle and accidental; Amelia wasn't predisposed to any of it. She was a human being, one who liked blue eyes more than she would ever admit. Purposeful disinterest could only take her so far before she couldn't help but smile back.

She answered while she could still keep a straight face, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I might. Is it entertaining?"

"It might be."

"Do you flip tables? I love a good table flip."

Nick smiled. He might have laughed quietly. She couldn't tell from her height. "I don't normally, but if you really want to see it…" Amelia felt herself smiling back. She tried to keep it mute. "So…" He trailed off. Cleared his throat. Amelia's smile dropped. She knew where this was going. "Are we gonna…talk about it?"

"What about it?"

He shook his head. "Don't do that."

Amelia gripped the branches by her head, looking around defensively. "Do what?"

"Act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"I know what you're talking about." Her grip on the tree bark tightened. She suddenly felt nervous and it had nothing to do with being twenty-five feet from the ground.

"But you're acting like there's nothing to say."

"I didn't say that," she said, frustrated, feeling that her words were being twisted. _They're only being twisted because you couldn't be less clear with him than you are right now._ "I just…did _you_ have something to say?"

She knew she was putting him on the spot, and hoped it would get him to back off. End this conversation where it started.

"I-" he stopped, looking away and tucking his hands into his pockets. "Not really. No."

Amelia stared down at her feet, her legs dangling from the branch she straddled. "Alright, then."

Nick spoke up again, looking up at her in the branches. She hadn't expected him to keep talking after that, after she'd intentionally asked him a question she knew he'd back down from. "Look…can you come down here? So we can…try to talk?"

Amelia pointed a finger up, above her head. "I'm…doing this right now." The apples were convenient, but had she not been in the tree, she'd have found something else. _I'm tying my shoes right now. I'm loading this gun. I'm beating myself over the head with Clementine's hammer, come back later._

"Can we just…" Nick trailed off as he watched her climb higher. She lifted herself up another branch, swinging one leg over to straddle it. She was high enough to reach the apples. Now all she had to do was get close enough. "Hey, don't-" He cut himself off, sighing like he was frustrated with her. He likely was. "Don't break your neck. Please."

"Hadn't planned on it…" Amelia stood up on the branch, slowly, staring at the bright red prizes at the end of her balance beam.

"Come on," Nick said, sounding more urgent now. "Just...leave the apples. We don't need the food that bad."

That was so blatantly untrue that Amelia almost pointed a finger at him, called him _liar liar pants on fire._

"I'm already there," she said. She'd gotten so close, she wasn't about to drop down and say she wasted her time. She wasn't about to tell Clementine she'd seen an apple and _didn't_ pick it for her.

"Amelia, come on,"

"Relax," She took the first step. Then the next. One after the other. The further she got from the trunk, the thinner and less stable the branch felt beneath her feet.

Sure, she wouldn't have wanted Clementine or Sarah to see her doing this. She couldn't count the number of times Clem had tried something dangerous to do on her own. And therefore she couldn't count the number of arguments they'd had that ended with _do what I say, not what I do._

But there was no one around to see her act like a bad role model. No one but Nick to witness her put herself in mild danger, and she wasn't worried about influencing him. If anything, he was the bad influence on her.

 _Because you're so impressionable._

She got her hand around the first apple. Gave it a twist and plucked it from its perch.

"Amelia?" Someone said from far below. It was a familiar voice. Her favorite voice.

"Yeah, Clem?" she called down without looking. She picked the second apple with her free hand. Twist. Pluck. "Heads up," she called, before dropping them one after another. Clementine reacted quickly, reaching out to catch them. She caught one. Dropped the other.

"What are you doing up there?"

Before she answered, another voice joined in. "Woah. What's goin' on here?"

 _Of course it's not just Clem. It's never just Clem anymore._

She spared a glance down. A fast one. But she was able to catch Luke looking up at her with crossed arms. Nick stood near him, his thumbnail between his teeth.

"Um," Clem looked up, watching Amelia carefully as she made her way back to the trunk, the branch shaking unsteadily under her tread. "You know how to get down, right?"

 _Duh._ Amelia got her hands on the trunk again. Getting up wasn't half as easy as getting down. She crouched and stepped off the branch, catching it so she was hanging by her hands. Drop, catch the next branch. Drop again. She landed in wet apple mush, and almost slipped in it.

She took a moment to catch her balance, and as she did noticed Nick was leaving. She looked up just in time to watch his back disappear into the trees.

She walked to meet Clementine and Luke, and as she was wondering whether she should think anything of it, Clem offered her both apples.

Amelia didn't reach for either of them. "One's for you-" A short stutter. An awkward interruption in her normal speech pattern because she thought of it at the last second, and decided to say it against her better judgment. "-silly."

Clementine raised an eyebrow at the term her sister had never called her in her life. "Silly?"

Amelia rolled her eyes, and knew the second after she said it that cheerful lightheartedness didn't suit her, and if Clem allowed her to forget it she would never attempt it again as long as she lived. "Just take the apples."

"Why did you-?"

" _Just…_ take them. Give the other to Sarah. Don't ask me things."

She smiled, looking down at it in her hands. Amelia couldn't remember the last time either of them had eaten fruit that wasn't half rotten. "Thanks, Amelia."

Luke said something about the group leaving soon. Clem mentioned to him that she loved apples, Luke said something charming, the two carried a conversation that Amelia didn't listen to because she'd been listening to it, in one way or another, for two days. She followed them back to the group and didn't ask herself why Nick had left so suddenly. She already knew.

* * *

6:21 pm

"No." Luke shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "No, that's crazy, and you know it, Amelia."

"I'll explain it if you'll just listen," Amelia said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. "It's not as dangerous as it sounds."

"Oh, I'm listening," Luke said. "It's what I'm hearing that's the problem."

Rebecca and Alvin were watching. Carlos was trying and failing to occupy Sarah by having her pitch one of the tents. Nick sat with his back against a tree stump, staring in the other direction and obviously listening. Amelia hadn't intended for this to become a fight, let alone one with an audience.

 _Idiot._ She hissed at herself. _What part of "thin ice" didn't you understand?_

It started when they ran out of water. The group had been tearing through the last of their supply at a slow but constant rate, and most of their bottles had hit empty by now. They couldn't drink water from anywhere in the forest unless they boiled it first – no one had come this far to be killed by pond scum – which was problematic, given that they weren't starting any fires. Amelia knew what to do. And she knew in advance that the problem wouldn't be doing it, but pitching the idea to Luke and Carlos.

Kenny had come up with it, actually. When Amelia remembered that, she had to stop her thoughts from wandering back to Macon and into memories that weren't safe to think about. They did it more than a few times. Even gave it a name. It was the same procedure every time, fast and easy; one person took a cooking pot a few miles from the group, set up a campfire, purified a new supply of water. The rest of the group altered course to meet up further down the road.

Luke was unconvinced.

"I'm telling you, this works. I've done it."

"How many times?"

"Dozens." She said truthfully, "Without any…incidents." She had to stop herself from saying the word _casualties._ She didn't want to scare him further away from an idea he already hated.

Clementine had taken a spot near Amelia. "We called it the water run. Everyone did it at least once. Amelia did it a lot."

"Well, I'm sorry, Clementine, but giving it a name don't make it any less crazy." Luke turned his attention back to Amelia. "You're really trying to tell me that one person splitting off from the group is a good idea? That's suicide!"

"Not if you're quiet, and armed." Amelia said, hoping she didn't sound like she was obviously trying to keep calm.

"How are we supposed to find you again? What if we don't?"

"The river is to the west. We're heading north. I go out to the river, then head northeast. The rest of you go northwest until we run into each other. We don't cover ground that fast, so you shouldn't have gone too far off route by then."

"Amelia, this is…" Luke ran a hand over his head, pushing his hair out of his face. "This is an awful idea."

"You could be more open to doing things differently," Amelia said, her tone sharp.

Luke's reply was quick, and equally curt. "I don't need to be open to anything that's gonna get people killed."

That was it. She gave up. Clementine couldn't say she didn't try.

 _Fuck it._

"Never mind. I don't need your permission to-"

"-that so? You're just gonna do whatever-"

"-do this. I don't even know why I asked. What were you planning to do-"

"-you want? Damn it, Amelia, we talked about this-"

"-when we ran out?"

"-yesterday!"

There was another voice. It was familiar and small and sweet, but had never, for as far back as Amelia could remember, gotten this loud.

"Amelia Jennifer!" Clementine snapped, without a trace of a smile. No hint of a joke. She stomped her foot. _Stomped._ "I asked you nicely to _stop fighting!_ "

Crickets. Amelia had had something else to say. Couldn't remember what it was now. Luke was quiet, too. As stunned as she was. No one watching had anything to say. They were still too surprised even to laugh.

"Wh…what?"

 _Did she just..._

 _She did._

 _She was Clementine's age, and just cracked the plasma screen TV with the basketball she'd been throwing around inside the house._

 _Clementine was five. She'd managed to sneak the last cookies from the jar on the counter without anyone noticing, not even Amelia. It wasn't a crime worthy of two names until she tried to lie to their parents about it._

 _Amelia was fifteen years old, caught bringing her father's car home from a joyride when she only had a learner's permit. She'd been quieter sneaking out of the house than sneaking back in. Ed and Diana were waiting for her in the living room at 3:00 am._

There were very few times they'd ever made their made their parents angry enough to call them by two of their names, or God forbid, all three.

Amelia felt defensive, toward her little sister of all people. She didn't have parents anymore. She didn't want to tolerate being chastised by anyone else.

"Clem-"

"You're not the one in charge of all the decisions anymore. You have to listen to what the others say."

Luke crossed his arms. "Thank you, Clementine."

"Come on," Amelia rolled her eyes. This was ridiculous. She was about to take the frustration – the embarrassment – at being scolded into silence by an eleven-year-old and direct it into a few more shots at Luke. She was about to ask him if he was trying to act like her dad or if it just came naturally to him when Clementine surprised her, and turned on him just as quickly.

"And you need to listen to her."

He blinked, and didn't answer right away. Probably shocked she hadn't taken his side completely. Amelia's response was silent, but bitter and spiteful. _I'm still her sister. She still likes me more sometimes. Fucking deal with it._ "I'm listening, Clem-"

"No, you're not. She's right. I know it's not the way you do things, but she knows what she's doing. It works."

"Enough." Carlos intervened, silencing the both of them. "This…'water run' is not smart. But we are out of options. We have at least three more days of traveling and we won't make it without water."

Luke knew Carlos was right. And by extension, knew Amelia was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. He crossed his arms and seemed to think it over. Amelia was fine with it. If hearing the idea from someone other than her was what it took to make him consider it, she'd take that all the same.

"I don't like this. But if we have to do it, at least two people should go."

Amelia shook her head. Another person would slow her down. She didn't need someone trailing behind her, someone whose back she had to watch in addition to her own. "It only takes one."

"Well, we're sending two, just to be safe." Luke quipped, a sharp edge in his voice making it clear that he was tired of having this conversation with her. He took a breath and looked around the clearing, scanning across each of the people in front of him. "Nick and I will go."

"Excuse me?"

Luke addressed Nick, and not her. She felt it was intentional. "Get your rifle."

"Yep." Nick crossed the field to take his rifle from Pete. Passed Amelia without slowing down and without looking. Like she wasn't even there. Pete handed it off to him, close to cracking a smile. Not there, but close. Amelia didn't think she'd see it again.

"And there won't be any more arguin' about it," he said, his voice close to a chuckle as he slid a glance to Clementine. "If you know what's good for you."

* * *

6:25 pm

She decided to give it another try. Amelia was nothing if not persistent. Even when it was better for everyone around her that she not be.

"Hey," she said, approaching Luke and Nick as they were about to leave the clearing.

Luke turned and looked immediately cautious. Prepared for another fight he didn't want. Nick disregarded her completely, confirming for the second time that she'd done something to upset him.

She asked herself if she was tired of this – the two of them, taking turns getting offended. Back and forth, like tennis. But more passive aggressive and far less interesting to watch. _The ball's in your court. Figure out what you did and send it back._

"You really should let me come with you," she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I…" She slowed when she realized she was about to sound like Clementine. "I can help."

 _Doesn't feel good to be on this end of it, does it?_

"You can help by stayin' back with the group," Luke offered. "Keep an eye on things here."

"Luke, this was my idea. I'm the one who's done it before," she searched his face for a sign of change, some indication that he might be reconsidering it. Nothing.

"It's already decided, Amelia. Why don't you…go check in on Rebecca?"

Amelia stopped to ask herself what she knew about Luke, albeit a little late. She knew herself well, and knew that she responded to logical arguments. Strategies. Concrete plans with predictable consequences. So that was what she used to convince others.

She remembered that Luke could be strategic, sure, but he was just as emotional as he was logical, if not more. He smiled even when he had no reason to – when he had reasons _not_ to – and seemed to think optimism was far more valuable than Amelia had ever considered it. He seemed to think keeping the group together was more important than finding water, that keeping people safe was…

That was it.

She crossed her arms. Broke eye contact and lowered her voice. The subject was a touchy one. Not easy to talk openly about but she hoped the effort would be noticed. "You're trying to keep everyone safe. I get it."

Finally, something in his face changed. It was a look she'd seen on him before, and she didn't have to try hard to remember where. It was the way he looked at Pete, when he wouldn't accept help he clearly needed. It was the way he'd looked at Clementine, listening to her talk about her parents.

And thinking back, it was the way he looked at Amelia more often than she'd realized, if she looked past the frustration.

She tried to meet his eyes and didn't quite get there. Looking straight at him was easier said than done. "Take me with you. I think it's the best way to…make sure no one gets hurt doing this."

Nick loudly shut the open chamber on his rifle, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder and walking from the clearing without waiting for either of them to speak. He stopped and looked back to Luke.

"Are we leaving, or not?"

Amelia started talking faster, realizing Nick was trying to rush his decision – or end the debate altogether – and that she was about to be out of time to convince him. "I haven't contributed much to your group since I've been here, and-"

"Is that was this is about?" Luke asked. She didn't want to think he pitied her, but it was hard not to with the gentle look on his face. "You don't have to prove anything to be here."

"I know," she said. That wasn't what she'd meant to imply. She tried to figure out what she _did_ want him to hear, but the way Nick was glaring at them made it hard to remember.

What did she want him to hear?

 _I'm not trying to start any more fights with you._

 _I'm worried about how this water run will go without me._

 _My sister is all I have left, and the choices we make as a group will affect her, and if I don't get any say in those choices…_

"Just…" She gave up on it, realizing asking again would be easier than baring her feelings. "I just…really should go with you."

Luke's hand flinched just a little, like he'd been about to lift a hand and changed his mind. Maybe he was about to put a hand on her shoulder, before he remembered the way she reacted to being touched.

"Amelia, you don't have to do anything dangerous to contribute to the group. We already decided this is what's best. You really want to be a part of this, then I need you to respect that."

Out of arguments and out of options, she gave a hesitant nod and turned away. She walked back to the clearing trying to figure out what she was missing, why she couldn't seem to tell any of these people what she felt.

Luke called after her, and Amelia knew better than to think it meant he'd changed his mind. "Amelia-"

"Don't," Nick said from somewhere behind him. "Don't get into it with her again. Let's just go."

* * *

6:38 pm

Amelia sat alone, on the ground up against an overturned log. The matter had been decided without her. Luke and Nick would return with a new water supply, sometime in the next two hours. Luke didn't like the idea of the group continuing to move while they were gone, and it would be dark by the time they got back anyway. So they were going to wait, then camp for the night.

Clementine didn't come to talk to her-

 _-because you're not Luke-_

and apparently did not regret double naming her.

The next person to speak to her was Alvin, who approached her while leading Rebecca by the hand, gently guiding her through the grass until she sat down on the fallen tree.

"Amelia," he said to her pleasantly. "Would you mind sitting with Bec for a few minutes? I'll be right back."

Her first question was why a grown woman needed anyone to sit with her, for any amount of time. Yes, she was pregnant. But she was an adult. An obviously intelligent, obviously capable one. Her second was why Rebecca wasn't saying anything to that degree, because she had to feel that way as well.

Instead, she nodded patiently to her husband. "I'll be fine right here, baby. She's here if I need anything."

Alvin left his wife with a quick but loving smile, and Amelia with a "thanks."

Silence _. Uncomfortable_ silence.

"I know that look." Rebecca said to her, looking straight ahead across the clearing. "You wanted to do something and someone stopped you from doing it. My dad did that all the time." She smirked, something about the memory replaying in her head on the verge of making her smile. "And I gave him that look all the time."

Amelia wasn't good at sharing. She used to think that anything would get easier with practice. Not the case. If anything, it seemed to get harder the more she tried to do it.

"They didn't listen."

"No, they didn't." Rebecca sighed. "If you ask me, they should've. But I'm not surprised they didn't." She sighed again, and it was so close to a laugh Amelia wanted to know what was going on in her head. It had to be more enjoyable than what was going on inside her own. "I knew how that conversation was going to go the second you walked over there."

Amelia hadn't. If she'd known how quickly Luke was going to shut her down – and how abruptly and intentionally Nick was going to ignore her – she never would have done it.

"Because they're stubborn." Rebecca slid her a sideways glance. "Bull-headed, the both of them."

"Is this the part where you tell me they mean well?"

"If you want to listen to it, yeah." Rebecca said calmly, sounding like she didn't have a preference either way.

Amelia stayed quiet, and decided to listen.

"They're good kids. Luke can be overbearing and Nick can be a brat sometimes, but they're good boys. Maybe I should say men," Rebecca shook her head slightly, at nothing in particular. "It's hard not to think of them as kids."

They fell into another silence, which Rebecca decided to break for the second time. Amelia didn't mind that she did; she was getting tired of loaded silence.

"You know, his mom…she could get overbearing, too. And that's the worst thing you'll ever hear me say about her."

Amelia didn't need to hear Nick's name to know who they were talking about. It sparked her interest so suddenly and unexpectedly – even to her – that she sat up abruptly, and looked straight at Rebecca. She wondered how well Rebecca knew the woman who raised Nick. The woman who meant so much to him that losing her left him so maladjusted and angry, had him trapped in a toolshed out in the woods and deciding he didn't feel like trying to make it out alive. From the faint smile on her face, Amelia guessed that Rebecca had known her well, or at the least had been very fond of her.

"It was because she cared. About everyone. I hardly knew her before we left Carver's camp. We hadn't been on the road for ten minutes but she pulled me aside and told me that if I needed anything, anything at all, I could come to her or Nick for it." Rebecca paused, looking straight ahead, maybe gathering her thoughts. Maybe just quietly letting the memory play out. Amelia wasn't about to interrupt. For once, she wasn't just passing time, sitting in silence because she had nothing better to do. This, she wanted to hear. "Everything good about Nick, he got from her and Pete. She had a temper, and he got that, too."

She got the sense that Rebecca didn't mind the temper, that it had been a part of her friend and something she wouldn't have changed.

Rebecca looked out across the clearing, sweeping her gaze across Carlos, Sarah, Pete. "Always talked about how important it was to help people. And eventually…she died doing just that."

And it was why Nick seemed to make a point of not doing it anymore, for anyone. Amelia found herself remembering more of their night trapped in the shed than she wanted to.

"Nick and Luke don't want to see anything like it happen again."

Ah. That was it. Here she was, thinking she was the one doing Rebecca the favor. Listening to her talk about a dear friend she'd lost, lending a quiet ear while she unloaded the heavy burden of absence and survivor's guilt. The entire time, missing the obvious point Rebecca had been trying to make.

Amelia took in a long breath and let it out just as slowly.

"They mean well."

"They mean not to lose any more people. Because they've lost a lot. They're just looking for someone to protect."

 _They should look somewhere else._

Amelia could tell by the way Rebecca spoke, the way she looked at her that she understood. They were alike, in ways that were immediately apparent, even on the night they met. Neither was the type to be comfortable with codependence, yielding their choices to others. Neither was the type to be put away for safe keeping when shit hit the fan. They were used to dirty hands, loaded guns, executing their own rescues because they'd learned a long time ago that no one was coming to do it for them. _If you're looking for a princess to save, you won't find her here._

"I'm not…used to it."

"Neither was I, for a long time. I used to think I didn't need anything from anyone. And for a long time, I didn't. It works until it doesn't. Then what do you have?"

Nothing. An empty gun and a head injury and a starving kid with a dog bite.

Amelia shook her head, because she realized, once again, that she'd been wrong.

They waited in silence – comfortable silence, this time – until Alvin returned. He offered Rebecca a hand, and gave Amelia his thanks again.

Amelia found herself trying to speak up quickly, before the two of them left. "I'm sorry." She didn't know where to start to explain what she was sorry about, but she got the feeling Rebecca already knew. "I just…I'm sorry for causing you any trouble."

Rebecca turned back, Alvin supporting her by the arm. "Honey, we were in trouble long before you showed up. It's as much your problem now as it is ours." The two of them left her, maybe with a goodbye; she didn't catch it because her mind was somewhere else. It caught a hint of an idea, a minute spark, and was running with it, feeding it until it grew into a wildfire. She and Rebecca were finished talking about Nick's mom. They'd left the subject. But she brought it back up, dragged it out of its grave because no one was better at digging herself into holes than she was. She couldn't stop. She could do what she'd done last time this happened – willfully ignore it for as long as she could – but she knew it wouldn't last.

" _I had to kill my mom."_

Had to shoot her. Because she was bitten and she didn't want to turn.

But what if they'd waited?

Pete was immune. Who was to say his sister wasn't?

Who was to say Nick wasn't?

No one could say. No one would ever know because Nick had done something that Amelia could never do; she'd have turned the gun on herself before executing her own mother because she just didn't have in in her to do it.

But Nick did. And he may not have had to.

If – when – she told Pete what he needed to know, the secret would make its way to Nick. And he would piece this together, in less time than it had taken her. He'd learn the hardest decision of his life may also have been his worst mistake, and Amelia would be the one to tell him, one way or another.

The thought made her feel like she was going to throw up. If there had been something in her stomach, she might have done it.

* * *

6:52 pm

Amelia didn't move, slouched far enough to rest her head on the log while she stared up at the sky. The sun would set in a few hours and, provided she wasn't called to take watch before then, she had a great place to sit and watch it.

That was what she'd decided to do. Wait for the sunset and pretend this was a normal evening like any other. She'd see how long it lasted, and that was as far ahead as her plan reached.

Because, when she thought about the problem she had, she was only reminded that she had no fucking idea what to do about it.

 _Warm, gentle hands and "Is this okay?"-_

Being left alone gave her time, too much time, to wander back into thoughts that demanded to be relived. They replayed in her head because she couldn't stop thinking about them, as hard as she tried. She pushed them away, tried to fixate on other things to distract herself, but they always came back. She was no stranger to this.

The fact that it was a good memory, one that was pleasant to recall over and over…that was new.

Still. She wanted silence. When the memory reared its head again she looped a piano wire around its neck and dragged it away. Now wasn't a good time. She didn't need clouded judgment, didn't need distractions, didn't need another thing scaring her…

That, and she had no place to feel anything like this, not when she knew what she knew about his mom.

"Amelia?"

She sat up abruptly, grateful to have been interrupted before she even knew who it was. If she'd been listening, she'd have heard the meek caution in the voice and known who it belonged to before she looked.

"Yeah," she said, adjusting to the surprise, the confusion as to why Sarah had come to talk to her. She talked to Clementine, all the time. But she hadn't said two words to Amelia, which she assumed had something to do with her father. She recalled making a promise to Carlos, which, given the events of the last three days, may or may not have still applied. "Um- hi, Sarah. What is it?"

"Hi…" she shifted awkwardly, standing alone and holding her arms. She seemed to have something to say, but hesitated to say it. Amelia waited. She didn't have anything better to do. "…are you okay? You look…really pale."

"Um," Amelia ran a hand over her head, pushing her hair out of her face, taking a rushed, uneven breath. "Yeah. Fine."

"You don't really look fine."

Amelia didn't answer her, not in the mood to start an incessant back-and-forth with a teenager. Sarah could think what she wanted. She didn't know when to accept a lie and pretend she believed it, something Amelia hoped she would learn later. Or not. It didn't matter to her.

Sarah dragged her heel back and forth on the ground, scraping up a small pile of dirt and rocks. "So, um….are you…still mad at Luke?"

 _Kind of._

 _Not really._

The way Sarah asked the question made her think. She was always mad at someone, for one reason or another. Sure, there were plenty of things to be mad about. But the common thread in all of her disagreements, every dispute she'd had with a member of the group…was her.

"No." she said. Sarah only blinked at her. "I'm not…mad at Luke,"

"Oh. That's good. I just wanted to check." She started fidgeting again, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, back again. She picked at her fingernails, trying to kill time before saying something that was obviously on her mind. Amelia waited. She'd wanted a distraction, and she'd gotten one. "It's just…Luke is the nicest person I know, next to my dad. He's always helping people and he takes care of me when my dad isn't around and he makes those…those things go away. He's my friend, and now that you're with our group, you're my friend, too. So I just…really hope you guys can get along."

Well. That was…unexpected.

"Um…okay…" Amelia wasn't sure how to process it, what to say. If anything should've been said to that.

"We are friends…right?"

She couldn't see any reason why not, so long as Carlos had changed his mind. Maybe he didn't like the two of them talking, but if he could tolerate it for Sarah's sake, Amelia didn't see any reason to disappoint her.

"Yeah, Sarah. Of course we are."

She broke out into a smile, the lights suddenly on behind her eyes. "Cool!" It seemed to be the invitation Amelia hadn't known she was waiting for. She crouched and sat down, back against the log just like Amelia was sitting, and before she knew it she was hearing about Sarah's favorite fruits and the splinter she got in her finger, which her dad gave her a Band-Aid for, and how she used to hate camping until this trip.

 _Is that what she thinks this is?_

Sarah's eyes wandered up to Amelia's forehead and suddenly the conversation was about her head injury. Amelia noticed it wasn't the first time she abruptly changed the subject on a moment's notice.

"So do you think that's going to leave a scar?"

"Probably." Amelia couldn't imagine it wouldn't.

"A big one?"

"Probably about as big as it is now."

"Do you have other scars?"

"Lots of them." Amelia lifted a shoulder, hooking a thumb into the collar of her shirt and tugging it over her arm to show her the dark indentation of what had once been a bullet in her upper arm.

"Woah," she whispered, then looked up at Amelia with wide eyes. "What happened?"

"I got shot."

"Someone shot you? That's terrible!"

"It wasn't that bad," she said, glad that Sarah was too young to know what it looked like when someone was lying through their teeth.

"Why would anyone want to shoot you? You're so nice."

Amelia laughed quietly. Now that was funny. She took a breath and forced herself to stop when Sarah stared at her like she didn't understand the joke. "He, uh, didn't mean to, in a way. He thought I was someone else."

"Who did he think you were?"

"Never found out, actually."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you're okay."

Amelia felt that she meant it. That was nice of her.

"I don't really have any," Sarah said, sounding, of all things, disappointed. "I have some on my knees from falling off my bike. And falling…on other things. How many do you have?"

"I don't know. It would take a long time to count them," Amelia sighed. "I've been collecting them for a long time."

"Collecting…like on purpose?"

"No."

"Well…I think your scar makes you look pretty. I found a broken mirror once, and I thought it looked so much cooler than a regular mirror. My dad made me throw it away though."

Amelia decided that she liked this girl. Not just because it was a change talking to someone too naïve to judge her. Sarah was lovely and strange, and she was happy to have met her. Carrying a conversation with her was easy. All Amelia had to do was listen, which was fine by her.

"I was the only girl in the group for a long time. Rebecca's a girl, but she's so much older than me. She never wants to play with me and we don't have anything to talk about." Smile. Nod. Uh-huh. "I can talk to Luke and Nick, but they're older too. And they're boys. It's so cool that you and Clementine are here."

"You don't think I'm old?"

"Not really. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-three."

"Oh. I guess you are kind of old."

Amelia tilted her head with a shrug. "Sorry."

"That's okay." Sarah smiled at her. "We can still be friends."

Carlos called Sarah's name, somewhere behind them in the clearing. She quickly said goodbye and ran to meet him. Amelia hoped she wasn't in trouble for talking to her, and went back to waiting for the sun to set.

When Sarah was gone, along with her constant stream of ideas and favorites and random thoughts, it didn't take long for Amelia's fears to creep back up her spine, working their way into her head and reminding her that she was headed for a cliff, carrying a secret heavy enough to drag her down so deep she'd never climb back out.

She wished Sarah would come back.

* * *

8:31 pm

Luke and Nick returned about thirty minutes before the sunset, three once-empty gallon jugs filled with sterile water. Clementine and the others went to greet them. Amelia waited and continued to watch the sky. There were things to be said between her and the two of them, and decided the next conversation they'd have could come on its own. She wasn't about to force it. They looked tired.

That time came sooner than she'd expected, when Nick broke off from the rest of the group and came to see her. He didn't sit.

Amelia sat up when she saw him, and waited. Some paranoid, stupid, silly part of her worried that he could read her mind. Thought, now that she knew what she knew about his mom, that he would know just by looking at her. She kept her mouth shut and waited, equally paranoid that she'd let it slip the first time she tried to speak to him.

He looked like he wanted to speak first.

"I ain't going to make you talk about it." He said. "You obviously don't want to, so you don't have to talk. Just listen."

She did.

 _They slowed down only when they started to run out of things to break, when it became more difficult to find something that wasn't already smashed to pieces. Another idea had been looming over the horizon in Amelia's head; she'd been too preoccupied, too excited, and she'd been ignoring it until now. It took an unintentional moment of unbroken eye contact with Nick, as they stood in the remains of their cathartic tirade, to realize she'd been barreling toward it this entire time, whether she'd been ignoring it or not._

Nick didn't seem to know where to start, now that he had her attention. He bided his time, gripping his wrist, cracking his knuckles.

"I don't know what to say to you anymore. I used to. You were easy to talk to." He shook his head, at himself. _Stupid._ "I mean…not easy…to talk to, but…fuck…" He looked over his shoulder, as if they'd be joined any minute by a third wheel. They wouldn't. The two were alone, more or less. They could see the rest of the group but not hear them. No one seemed interested in the conversation they were having…or trying to have. "Struggling" might have been more accurate. "You get it." He said simply, hands out. "Nobody else here gets it. Not even Luke."

Amelia didn't ask him what "it" was because she knew. As brief and simple as the phrase was, she understood. She imagined what it must've been like, being like Nick and having a best friend who knew him better than anyone and still didn't understand certain things about him because they were opposites in every way. Who didn't understand when he tried to tell him he wasn't built that way, wasn't good at acting or thinking like him.

She thought about telling him this. But he'd already given her a free pass to participate in the conversation without talking.

 _Grief had a tendency to snowball. It demanded to be felt, and once it started it built in momentum and became harder and harder to stop. They'd already tipped it over the hill– done far more than that, really – and now it was hurdling downhill fast and wouldn't be stopped until it had run its course. They couldn't choose which emotions to feel, and which not to. All of it was on its way, whether they wanted it or not. They both carried multitudes – grief, anger, shame, regret, aggression, loneliness – and Amelia didn't realize how heavy the burden was until she'd released some of it, started to share it with another person who gave part of his burden to her._

"You need to stop bullshitting me." Nick told her. "Stop acting like there's nothing to say and…admit you just don't want to say it."

They both knew it was true. She didn't understand why he wanted to hear it. Of course there were things to say about the night before. There was plenty to say, too much. Amelia's problem wasn't a lack of words but the danger in saying them. It opened too many doors. Exposed too many things within herself that she'd spent her life building walls, forging armor to keep closed away and untouched.

 _She didn't realize how recklessness brought more recklessness, indulgence brought more indulgence until Nick picked her up by the hips and she happily met him halfway by wrapping her legs around him. She purposely knocked his baseball cap from his head and he gently backed her up against the shed wall, his mouth on hers in a sudden and strange and warm and wonderful collision of kindred spirits, finding each other and not being driven away by what they saw. Less like two freight trains hitting each other head-on and more like one broken body settling up against another, a body which fit theirs well and brought them closer to feeling whole again. She kissed him back, running fingers through his hair and knowing it wouldn't fill the gaping holes in her heart but it could damn well make her forget about them for as long as he was here._

Nick hesitated again. Broke eye contact with her and didn't seem to like what he was about to say. "'Cause I'm over here thinking it was something I did." He shook his head at the ground. "Thought maybe I pushed you too hard…moved too fast. If I did…I'm sorry."

No. No, no, no that wasn't it. Not even a little bit. Was that what she'd left him thinking all day?

 _He broke the kiss, and she immediately wanted it back. It was a knockout of a kiss, urgent and deep and sweet and she worried that it meant he'd changed his mind about her. That he didn't understand her, she'd been wrong about him and he wasn't anything like her._

" _Is this okay?" he breathed. "Are you…are you okay with this?"_

 _She answered him quickly with an enthusiastic nod, barely answered at all before she got her hand behind his neck and pulled him back in. A low, rough sound came from somewhere in the back of his throat and he stepped in, stepped closer, pressing her harder into the wall. He left her mouth to kiss her neck, burning a trail down to her collarbone and back up. She returned the favor, kissing him just under his jaw until she felt him shudder and tighten his grip on her waist._

 _She welcomed the pressure, the tighter grip, the electricity that pulsed in her chest and shot straight up to her head, liberated and thrilled by the fact that all of it hinged on permission she chose to give. Thrilled even more because he asked for it, and even further by the way he'd stared directly at her mouth when he did. She finally felt she had a body that belonged to her and she had a choice as to what to do with it, and this is what she chose and would choose over and over._

Amelia shook her head, trying to tell him that wasn't it, that he was worried over nothing. He didn't see. He was still staring at the ground, hands in his pockets and she couldn't bring herself to speak. Her voice was dry and useless and she couldn't make herself do it.

"I don't know why you won't talk to me. If you just want to…pretend it never happened, then I can't stop you."

Did she want that? She thought of the way she'd been pushing away her memories of that night, doing it not because she didn't like them but because she liked them _too much._ Because she was afraid of the choices she'd make if she let them replay in her mind over and over, leaving her feeling things she'd never meant to feel again.

Nick cleared his throat. Buying time, again. "But I had to tell you…I don't want to…do that. I don't know what it was to you but it wasn't just…nothing. To me."

 _The world had been ruined years ago. There wasn't a person alive who hadn't seen their loved ones die, who'd never had to murder to stay alive, who could say they were still the person they used to be. Amelia and Nick were part of a heartbroken collective, two of millions who'd experienced the unimaginable. They kissed each other for minutes at a time without coming up for air, a mess of tangled limbs and wandering hands seeking out warm skin, reminding each other that the fact that everyone else's trauma matched or exceeded their own didn't mean they weren't allowed to feel pain. The shed was a fortress that, for now, belonged to them and only them. The walls around them were a barrier that kept the world out; no one else could come in uninvited and neither of them had to leave until they chose to._

 _And they didn't, for some time._

"I'm…here to talk about it. If you change your mind. I hope you change your mind."

And he turned to leave. He didn't leave her with anything else, didn't give her any more time to come up with something to tell him. He was giving her space, after countless signals from her saying that was what she wanted.

She spoke, called out to his back as he was walking away because she could see a door closing in front of her. She didn't know what was on the other side, or whether she wanted to take it, only that it was something wonderful and high-risk and that her chance to take it was fading fast.

"I'll get there." That was the most she could offer, at the moment. She had things to work out, in her heart and in her head, a burden she had to find a safe place to bury before she could think about sharing any part of herself with another person. "I don't know how long it…I'll get there. If you can wait."

Nick stopped when he heard her voice, and turned back just far enough to look at her over his shoulder.

"…I can live with that."

She nodded. It was a deal, then.

Finally, because she felt comfortable enough to ask even if the answer was going to be "no,"

"Can I share your tarp?"


	13. Preemptive

_Clementine…baby…if you can hear this, call the police. That's nine…one…one…we love you…we love you…we love y-_

The dial tone was deafening, a hollow and horrible white noise. It intermingled with other empty sounds; a radio dial tuned to a dead station, rushing water overwhelming anything and everything save for a woman sobbing uncontrollably somewhere behind the chaos. It built slowly, swelling from a low hum to a violent crescendo that thundered in Amelia's ears and reverberated through her chest and as it peaked hit her _right_ in the spine, hard enough to have her arching her back as she woke up, blinking in the cold and confused as to where she was. Wondering how a dream could actually make her feel like she was drowning in sound, suffocating while having plenty of air to breathe.

It had been a long time – years – since she'd relived the last time she'd ever heard her mother's voice. She'd been proud of herself for evading it for so long. But somewhere along the way her worst memories got clever and started sneaking up on her in her dreams.

She was awake; but now she had no choice. She'd already heard too much of it, already made eye contact with the Gorgon. She was knee-deep in the memory with nothing left to do but submerge herself completely, no matter how murky and toxic the water was. Suddenly she was dwelling on how afraid her parents must have been in their last moments, not for themselves but for her, and for Clementine. Brought to tears not because the city was going to hell around them but because their daughters were caught up in it, somewhere far away where things would happen to them that their parents would never know about.

 _Yeah. Been there, Mom._

Amelia let out a breath, a long one that turned to a smoker's plume as it collided with frigid morning air. She blinked in the sunlight. Heard a bird chip and realized she'd been allowed to sleep through the night; it was early, very early, but the sun was already up. She sat up to see who was on watch, first to know who to thank for the extra hours of rest and then to make sure they hadn't seen her writhing like a maniac in her sleep –

 _-ouch dammit-_

-and only managed to sit up halfway before some restraint on her hair forced her head back down to the tarp.

Once again flat on her back, she slowly turned her head toward the only thing that could've been responsible. The source of heat and noise by her side – close by her side, she realized, closer than they'd been when the two of them went to sleep – taking up more than half of the tarp they shared with the way he insisted on lying diagonally, legs spread out like his lower body was in the middle of a snow angel. She'd kept her thoughts on it to herself for the night, given that the tarp wasn't hers. But complaining about it in her head? Fair game.

Nick, apparently, was a stomach-sleeper. He was face-down on the tarp, his arms folded into a pillow beneath his head and on top of her ponytail, effectively pinning it and her head to the ground.

Amelia huffed a sigh, blowing another burst of fog into the air. _Come on, dude._

She gripped her ponytail in a tight fist, squeezing it so she wouldn't tear it out of her head as she pulled it out from under him. She sat up slowly, not because she was trying to be gentle but because it _wouldn't give._

"Come on…" she whispered to herself, pushing against his shoulder in an effort to get him to roll. She was about to put a hand flat on his face and push when he frowned and wrinkled his nose, still asleep but just awake enough to know he was being disturbed. She gave him another push, and he rolled onto his back, then onto his side, grumbling something indecipherable and feeling around his head for pillows that weren't there.

Sitting up, she saw Alvin was on watch, set up with a rifle on one side of the camp while Carlos watched the other; everyone else was still asleep. She had a feeling she knew which of the two had let her sleep when he was supposed to come get her. She first wondered why, and wondered second whether she should bring it up, and decided to answer both questions later.

She twisted in her spot, stretching her back and deciding she'd go take his place now, give him the rest of the morning off to thank him and maybe take his watch tonight-

 _Oh my God._

Amelia froze, breathless as she watched a doe tread carefully over the ground, barely making any noise she could hear despite being twenty feet from their camp. She didn't dare move a muscle, as if she would scare it away if she released the breath she was holding. For all she knew, she would.

Finally, she started thinking clearly and dropped. Flat on her stomach, she eyed the doe in a military crawl, thinking every time it twitched an ear or flinched at the sound of a bird taking flight that it was about to run away, disappear forever.

She couldn't let that happen.

She looked over one shoulder, then the other to see if Alvin or Carlos had seen it. They both had their backs to her. She was the only one watching, staring in awe and finger-twitching excitement at a deer, grazing in a clearing with no idea how badly Amelia wanted to shoot it.

They had rules. No gunshots. No fires. Nothing that would leave a trail. They were running. They were being chased. She knew this.

They were also starving. The group had danced around the word for three days, trying to avoid saying it as if it would make it any less true. They'd run out of food the day before, and still had two straight days of travel with…what? Half a protein bar to share among nine people? Ten, if she counted Rebecca's baby, which would starve for as long as she did…and die much sooner than the rest of them. Luke had been trying to keep everyone's mind off of it, trying to remind them that dwelling and complaining about the problem wouldn't make the trip any easier. To an extent, Amelia agreed.

But Clementine and Sarah couldn't eat optimism.

She knew there wasn't much wildlife left in the forest – any forest. She knew she was left with squirrels and the occasional raccoon because large animals had been hunted near to extinction. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a deer. She had a chance. One that had fallen so perfectly into her lap she couldn't imagine not taking it. She couldn't pass it up because she already knew there wouldn't be another.

She thought about reaching for her pistol, and decided a hunting rifle would be a safer choice. She wanted something steady, powerful, something that would do a lethal amount of damage. Something that would make it harder to miss.

 _You've never shot one before._

She eyed Nick's rifle, left on the ground next to the tarp just on the other side of his body, and made a slow, cautious reach for it. She came up just short of it, able to touch it with her fingertips but not get her hand around it. She watched the deer, anxiously and silently begging it not to leave while leaned over him far enough to catch the gun by the stock, and pull it toward her.

As if his rifle was wired to some kind of internal alarm, Nick opened his eyes the moment she touched it, and to his credit, didn't react much. Not to the fact that she was trying to steal - borrow - something of his and not to the intimately small space between his face and hers. Her clumsy invasion of his personal space got only a wide-eyed look that matched hers, at first. Then skepticism. Half of a smirk.

He reached up and brushed her bangs from her forehead. "So you don't want to talk about it but you'll jump my-"

He stopped when Amelia put her free hand to his face, touching his jaw with a single index finger and turning his head to look at the deer. He let out a shuddering breath.

"Shit…" he muttered, so quietly Amelia almost didn't hear him.

 _Yeah. Shit._

She lifted the gun over him, staying low while she pointed the barrel at it and keeping in mind that _any_ sudden movement would scare it away. On her stomach, she aimed up from the ground.

Shit. She didn't know where to aim. The neck would land her a guaranteed kill, but was a small target. Too small. She doubted her marksmanship with a gun she'd never held before would amount to much. She'd run the risk of missing completely. Sounding off a gunshot for nothing.

Nick rolled quietly, onto his stomach beside her. "Don't do that," he said.

She was already doing it. That much was decided. He had the chance to stop her – a chance she'd never meant to give him. He could alert the group, scare the deer away, wrench the gun from her hands. If he didn't do any of those things, if he didn't resort to using force, she was going to take the shot.

Still. It would have been nice if he supported it. It would have been nice to have one person who agreed with her, out of an entire group who she already knew didn't want her to do this.

She eyed the doe's neck in the crosshairs, trailing the center slowly down to the body, which she hoped would be easier to hit.

 _Damn it._ She was shaking, and she hoped it had do with the weight of the gun or the awkward position she was in. Her view through the scope was jittering violently and she couldn't keep it on the deer for more than a second. Two if she was lucky.

 _Get it together._

"Don't do that," Nick repeated, quiet and impatient. "The scope's gonna hit you in the eye. Pick it up."

Amelia turned from looking down the sights to looking at him, so unprepared for what he said that she didn't understand him right away.

He put a hand under the gun and lifted slowly, keeping an eye on the deer while he raised the rifle and Amelia rose with it until she sat up straight. "There…" Amelia put a foot flat on the tarp and stabilized herself on one knee. "Line it up…stock goes in your shoulder...like that." She felt a hand on her lower back, another on her knee, turning her slightly and keeping her steady.

The view through the scope was still, and only moved in time with her breathing. Staring at the deer, watching it graze with its back to the two of them, she felt a weight on the gun, heard a click, and realized Nick had switched off the safety for her.

And just like that, the gun started shaking again. Her hands were weak, wet, useless. She had seconds to shoot before the deer turned around and saw her. It didn't even need to see her; it could hear a noise and take off without a reason. She had to shoot _now_ but she couldn't get the gun to hold still-

"Amelia." Her heart started beating harder, pounding away in her chest when she realized the voice wasn't Nick's. It was deeper and more severe and very displeased with her. Carlos kept his voice low and his warning quiet, for a reason she didn't understand. She imagined it was less to avoid scaring the deer away and more to avoid scaring her. "Put the gun down. Now."

The doe perked its ears up, sat up and started looking around. It was twitchy. Nervous. Amelia knew what it looked like when something was about to cut and run; she'd done it herself, many times. Others in the group stirred. A group full of light sleepers, sitting up and aware that something wasn't right. She could tell by the voices who was up.

Luke said something careful, and calming, like she was about to step off a rooftop and he was trying to talk her down. Sarah asked her father a question. Clementine called Amelia by name. She'd already been running out of time, and now they were about to throw away what little she had left.

The doe turned around, looked straight at her and froze. It stared down the barrel and didn't move, just like Amelia had more than once in her life.

 _Make your choice._

 _Do it now or let it go._

But she couldn't let it go, not without thinking of _Dad, I'm hungry when can we eat again_ and Clementine's _don't worry, I'm okay_ while she tried to hide the sound of her stomach growling. Her finger curled up against the trigger, but hesitated to pull it. Carlos warned her again, his voice louder this time, resorting to yelling at her, to scaring away the deer so she wouldn't have any reason to fire the gun. It jumped at the sound of his voice, hunched on bent legs and ready to sprint-

 _-it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission-_

-so Amelia pulled the trigger before it could.

The shot was deafening. An explosion of sound in a silent forest, with an echo just as loud. Immediate pain in her shoulder, a violent and sudden jerk that threw it back farther than it was supposed to go. She released the gun with one hand, dropping the barrel onto the ground, and held her shoulder as she stood up to watch; she saw a flash of red and heard the deer cry out, a pathetic, heart-wrenching whine, followed by the sound of its hooves beating the ground as it ran. It moved clumsily, stumbling and frantic as it fell to the ground, struggled back to its feet, and took off into the trees.

In the renewed silence, Amelia let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She hit it. She actually fucking hit it.

But she didn't kill it. Which meant she had to move.

She was on her feet, aware that people were talking to her, angry with her, and knowing it was a bridge she'd cross later. She reached into her backpack and found her handgun, and kept Nick's rifle, having decided both would come with her. The deer had gone running, but not at a pace too fast for her to catch. All she had to do was follow it, and come back with food, and the group would move out before anyone followed the gunshot to their camp. No harm done.

No harm done.

 _Repeat it as often as you want. Doesn't make it true._

Carlos was silent. Amelia was reminded again that it was worse than hearing him yell. Quiet anger spoke volumes more than screaming.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" his words were low, and grave as she made her way toward the trees. She couldn't run in the opposite direction like she wanted. She had to walk toward them to follow the deer. Had to go right through them and answer for what she did.

Luke shook his head, angry and confused and trying to react to everything that had happened around him within seconds of waking up.

"That gunshot will draw everyone around here, _for miles!_ Amelia, what were you thinking?"

She stopped and put Nick's gun on the ground just long enough to strap Hilda to her back. Later she would explain and apologize and face consequences, but at the moment she had a window, a small one that was rapidly closing.

"I have to go," she said, pulling the strap to keep her ice pick in place. "The blood is going to draw lurkers…" She stuttered for a moment, confused at her own choice of words before she decided to move on. "If they get to it before I do, we can't eat it-" She needed a bag. Something to carry the meat back…

 _Fuck it. Use the backpack._

More voices, belonging to people Amelia had just woken up. They didn't know what was happening yet. Didn't know how angry they were about to be. Amelia recognized Clementine's voice somewhere in the mix, telling her to wait, to please stop for a minute.

Rebecca spoke to Alvin from her sleeping bag, alarmed and looking for the source of the gunshot that had jarred her awake. "Alvin, what…?" Sarah clung to her dad, asked him what was going to happen now while Pete had lunged from his tarp and reached for his rifle. He chambered a round in one smooth, automatic motion before looking around and realizing there were no intruders, nothing and no one to shoot.

"What in the hell is goin' on? _Is someone gonna tell me who's shootin' off like we're at the goddamn range?"_

"Amelia shot a deer," Sarah answered him anxiously. "Dad?"

"We'll talk later," Amelia said to Luke, picking up Nick's rifle and stepping around him.

"Hold on-"

She spoke to him over her shoulder as she walked, settling for a severe understatement of what she wanted to say. " _I know_. This was bad. But if you don't want it to be for nothing, I have to go after it _now_ ,"

Another voice called out to her, one that was close behind her, and gaining on her. She hoped he wasn't coming to stop her, and knew from the second she heard it that he wasn't.

"Wait," Nick said, coming to a stop with a hand out. He nodded to his gun. "Give me that,"

Amelia shook her head. "I need it. Not for long, just-"

"Give it to me. I'll cover you out there."

He took it from her and turned to Luke, who was equally upset with him for a host of reasons.

"You were right there, Nick! Why didn't you stop her?"

Nick's answer was fast. It was a question he'd been ready for. "We're fucking starving out here,"

"We're out here for a reason! What's the point of runnin' from-"

"What did you think we were gonna do for three more days? We're out of food, Luke, what were you gonna do about it?"

" _I am trying_ to keep everyone safe!"

"If we keep going like this, we'll all drop dead before we make it to the mountains-"

Amelia moved for the trees. She didn't mean to cause this. Didn't mean to wake everyone up in a panic, didn't mean to start a heated fight between best friends.

She found herself stopping in front of Carlos and Pete, just short of the trees. This wasn't the first time the three of them had had a discussion like this. She hoped it would be the last before realizing that it would be up to her.

 _Stop fucking up and they'll stop yelling at you._

She looked between the both of them. "It's already done, and I'm sorry. But we don't have much time to catch it."

Sarah tugged at Carlos' shirt. "Dad, is the deer going to be okay?" He quieted her, holding up a hand and regarding Amelia with a stoic, unreadable face.

"Go now. Return quickly. _We will talk_ about this when you do."

She nodded. _I'm already gone._

Luke spoke up from behind her. "You're just gonna let her go? Alone? What if she runs into people on the way? What if people find us here before-"

"Then you don't need to be here when I get back," she said, backing into the woods to get out her last few words before disappearing. "Move if you have to. I'll find you."

She knew how fast walkers would form a horde when they smelled blood. She knew it would be a long time before they found something to eat again. She knew how quickly malnourished babies died after they were born. These were the thoughts that drove her into the forest, breaking into a run with little more than an "I'm sorry" thrown over her shoulder to the group she'd just put in danger.

* * *

A minute into the forest, she heard Nick call out something behind her. She didn't slow down.

She pushed branches from her face and tried to stay upright on uneven ground as she ran. Her list of skills was random, and short. She could name most of the elements on the periodic table and could hold her liquor well enough. She wasn't the best at conversation or fishing or driving a stick shift. Her spelling was impressive. Her cooking skills were not.

But she was fast. This deer wasn't about to outrun her, she told herself. Not with a bullet in its ribcage.

She followed the trail it left behind, looking for wide, messy tracks dashed into the dirt, and skidded to a stop only when they started to fade. She looked this way and that, breathing hard and deep while trying to decide which way to go. The doe could have gone anywhere.

 _Think._

Nick slowed to a stop behind her, his footfalls heavy and labored. He hunched, hands on his knees and his gun strapped to his back.

"Jesus…" he breathed. "Did you…did you hear me? I said…" A deep breath. A cough. "…told you to wait up…"

 _Use your head. Where did it go?_

The tracks had faded, which meant it slowed down. Because it couldn't run any further. Which meant it couldn't be far, and was likely already dead.

Amelia scanned the area around them, looking over tree roots and bushes for-

Blood. It was hard to spot. Only there to people who were looking for it. But it was there, dripping crimson over the dark green leaves of some plant Amelia couldn't name.

"This way," she said, gesturing for him to follow her without looking to make sure he was.

He trailed behind her and said "hey" twice, before closing the gap between them and catching her by the arm from behind. She whirled, looking him up and down and wondering what could be so important it was worth stalling her – stalling the two of them – getting back to the group.

"What?"

"It's okay if we don't find it."

She shook her head. "It's not. It's really not." She pulled her arm free – easily, because like always he was gentle and willing to keep his hands to himself when she didn't want to be touched – and kept walking.

It had to be here. It had to be. She couldn't go back to the group empty-handed. She broke the one rule they had, broadcasted a signal of their exact location, and it couldn't be for nothing.

What would she do if it was? Her first thought was to leave. Take off running into the trees and try to find her way back to the small towns in the foothills. Her second was that she couldn't do it without Clem. She'd have to come with her.

Clementine wouldn't have that.

Which only left her with one choice. She walked deeper into the woods, snapping twigs and breaking pinecones under her shoes and ignoring Nick's attempts to speak to her, hoping he would think it was because she was preoccupied. Hoping he wouldn't guess it was because he scared her, in a way, and because she worried he would try again to ask her questions she didn't know how to answer.

She heard the sound of a wounded animal loudly struggling to breathe – a sound that she was ashamed to say thrilled her, given the circumstances – and followed it to find the doe collapsed at the base of a tree. Its fur was stained by a large red splotch that ranged from its neck to its ribs, darkest near the center where the bullet had gone in and blood continued to gush out. Its breathing was heavy and uneven, and its breath fogged up the morning air in front of its nose in thin, weak clouds.

And she stood there, realizing she'd been so intent on finding it that she hadn't planned any further than that. Now that she had it, she found herself turning to Nick, to decide what to do with it.

He caught up with her, and gave her a look she didn't understand. Maybe he wasn't an open book. At least not all the time.

He waved a hand to the deer. "Well?"

She frowned, searching his face for something that would give away his thoughts. He didn't look confused. He looked like he was expecting something. From her.

"I've never skinned an animal." She said. "A big one, I mean."

He crossed his arms. His face didn't change. If he'd been waiting for something, that wasn't it.

She shook her head, impatient. "Can you just…? Pete made it sound like he taught you how to hunt. You…know how to do this?"

Nick looked from her to the deer, then back. She finally saw something change – his face softened and he looked like he was biting the inside of his bottom lip – and from the way it disappeared when he looked back to her, the soft expression hadn't been for her.

"Kill it first."

"I-" _I did._ Then she realized what he meant. "I mean…don't you know the best way to…" She trailed off, hoping he would see what she wanted and make it easy for her. Take the ice pick from her and do it.

"You shot it. You finish it. It's how it goes."

She didn't know what to say to that. It was one thing if he didn't want to do it, but that didn't seem to be the case. His dismissive shrug and his refusal to look at the deer on the ground left her staring at him and trying to understand. He finally met her eyes, looking at her with the reluctant defiance of someone who didn't make the rules and didn't always want to follow them...but respected them enough to do it regardless.

"What difference does it make?"

"It's just how it goes. You hurt something, it's your job to end its suffering. No one else's. You're responsible for it."

Oh. Now she got it. Didn't agree with it, but she understood it.

"…did Pete teach you that?"

He nodded. He didn't seem interested in talking much. Maybe because he suspected that Amelia might try to talk him into doing her job for her. She'd have been offended, if he hadn't been right. She thought about saying please, to try being direct and asking nicely for once-

 _He's not going to do it for you just because he likes you._

 _Who even says he likes you?_

She stepped back, crouching by the deer and her backpack on the ground. She unstrapped her climbing axe and poured half of her bottle of water over the blade, dragging it across the grass to wipe it clean.

The deer whined as she stood over it, its breathing becoming shallow and ragged and…sad.

She would have avoided it if she could have. Killing and causing pain was a necessary evil of her new life. An unfortunate side effect that some suffered from more than others. _Just do it. The longer you put it off the more it suffers._

She raised the axe, muttered an apology under her breath, and put it firmly in the deer's neck, then dragged. Blood flowed from its open throat, soaking into the dirt, pooling on the ground, creating red mud and giving off a sharp metallic smell. The deer went silent and motionless, and Amelia turned away. She didn't want to see anymore, and saw Nick had done the same.

After a long few seconds, he turned back. Arms still crossed defensively, though what he felt defensive toward, she didn't know. Was it her?

It was done. She didn't feel the need to say it, so she waited. Nick knew what to do, she hoped. Pete certainly did, and must have taught him at some point. She didn't want to ask again. Didn't want to push anyone more than she already had, least of all him. So she waited until he crossed to the deer; she stepped aside and handed over her ice pick when he did.

Nick cut into it, starting at its stomach and pulling the axe all the way up through its ribcage. Amelia took a seat on the ground and watched him from behind when she realized it wasn't going to be as fast and easy as she imagined. He blocked most of what she could see, but over his shoulder she caught glimpses of entrails, a red mess of organs and muck that he pushed aside with his hands. She wondered why he wasn't cringing at the gore of what he was doing and remembered that it was probably nothing compared to watching her do the same to a human corpse.

She remembered something Clementine said to her, and wished she hadn't.

"…thanks."

"Mhm." He muttered over his shoulder. She'd have guessed that he wasn't interested in what she had to say so much as in what he was doing. But he didn't seem interested in that either. She didn't blame him for wanting it to be over.

This didn't seem like the time. But in her opinion, there never would be a right time to talk about things that made her nervous. There was always a reason to put it off, to say she'd do it later while knowing deep down that she never would. Yes, Nick had his hands in the carcass of an animal she'd just killed, but they were alone. They had privacy, and quiet, and weren't in danger. What would happen if she did something despite being afraid, just this once?

"It was nice," she said quietly, and did not elaborate.

Nick's hands went still. Then started moving again. He picked up Hilda again, smearing blood all the way down the handle, and used it to cut into something Amelia couldn't see.

"'Nice.'" He repeated. Paused. Then nodded. "I'll, uh…I'll take that."

They fell into a long silence. Amelia started counting to pass the time. She'd gotten to thirty-one when Nick finally looked at her over his shoulder.

"Was it-" He cut himself off and turned back. Took another second to think, then looked at her again. "Anything else?"

That was too hard of a question. Not because she didn't have an answer but because of what the answers were, and the fact that she would have to voice them out loud. It had been a lot of things. A long list of words, every single one of them good. Every one of them gave her a warm feeling and brought a smile to her face, and he'd have had to put a gun to her head to get her to say them.

Nick cleared this throat, loudly, and seemed to be trying to talk when he didn't have anything to say yet. "Uh- you know, I just meant…anything else you wanted to say…at all?" Another silence when Amelia didn't offer an answer. She sat cross-legged, and ran her hands over her knees. Noticed a new hole in the knee of her jeans. Tugged the collar of her shirt down over her shoulder and poked at the bruise. It was starting to turn purple. "That's what I meant."

She wasn't sure it was.

There was more to say, there would always be more to say. But she decided to go with what couldn't be avoided, even by her.

"You didn't…" she shook her head. She wanted him to hear it more than she didn't want to say it. "…push too hard."

"I-" Nick seemed to have something to say right away, then changed his mind. "Good."

Good.

He held a hand out behind him without looking. "Bag." She took her water from her backpack, which left it empty, and tossed it to him. She'd figured it a better use for it than what she'd been doing with it. He started filling with large cuts of meat by the handful, and Amelia stood behind him, knowing she wasn't being much help but unsure of what to do. She gathered that their conversation was over, and was more than okay with it. It didn't mean she didn't like him. She recognized the paradox of enjoying his company without wanting to talk to him; something that would've been hard to explain to anyone other than him.

He zipped the bag shut and stood up when it was finished, his hands covered in blood that reached his forearms. She saw him contemplate wiping it on his shirt – the last clean one he had – and decide not to, which left him standing with his arms bent like a surgeon who'd just scrubbed into the OR.

She found something about it funny, and almost smiled. She uncapped her water bottle and told him to hold his hands out.

He shook his head. "Don't waste it,"

"I'll be fine until tomorrow." Waiting until Luke passed out the next round of water rations the following morning wasn't going to be hard to do. If she got desperate, she could share with Clementine.

 _Or just ask Luke for more, because you know he'd probably give it to you anyway._

He considered it, looking down at his hands again and wrinkling his nose at the smell. He held them out so Amelia could pour the water over his forearms, down to his wrists and over his hands. He scrubbed them together furiously, trying to get clean before Amelia ran out, she assumed. There wasn't much left by the time he was. She still appreciated the thought.

"Thanks." He muttered, flinging the excess water from his hands.

"Yep."

She found herself watching him, drying his palms on the front of his pants, adjusting his hat, and noted that she wasn't standing far from him. She could kiss him from here. She'd have to stand up on her toes to reach him, but she could. He was right there.

She wondered how he'd react if she did.

 _Why not just do it?_ She didn't have an answer right away. Hadn't that been what the night in the shed – the three hours they killed together – was about? Giving in to something they wanted without being afraid of what might happen after?

But not caring about consequences wouldn't eradicate them. They would still be there, coming to hit her like a train after she did something she couldn't take back. For a brief second, she was honest with herself, and admitted that she wanted to kiss him again. But she wouldn't be able to do it without reminding herself that what she knew would destroy him if he ever found out.

She shouldered the bag, now surprisingly heavy, and he slipped his hand under the strap before she could. He took it from her, mumbling something along the lines of, "Here, let me…" and handed her ice pick back to her.

They returned to the camp quickly, and in silence.

* * *

They came back to find a camp full of people ready to move. Sleeping bags were rolled, supplies were packed. Bags were on shoulders, guns were loaded. They stepped back into the clearing stopping just past the tree line, and had everyone's attention immediately. Carlos spotted them at a distance and turned to give directions to the others. Luke came over to meet them, Clementine trailing behind him, this time without a smile.

"You two, uh…" he paused as the approached them. "You alright?"

Amelia let Nick answer. After a pause, he nodded. "Yeah. Fine. We got it."

"That's…good," Luke said with no small amount of uncertainty, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the group. "Then let's go. Carlos really wants us outta here, now."

"Yeah, just…" Nick turned to Amelia and let the bag fall from his shoulder. "I have to check on Pete,"

She nodded, and took it from him before he left. Luke fell into step beside him, asking,

"So everything went smoothly out there?"

"Yeah, it was hard to find for a while, but…"

Their voices faded with distance, leaving Amelia with her sister.

Clementine crossed her arms, avoiding eye contact and, for the first time Amelia had seen in a while, looking nervous.

"Clem?"

Her eyes ran warily over the bag on Amelia's shoulder. "Is that…is that it?"

She took a long, exhausted breath and nodded. Leaned back against a tree trunk. "Yeah. We'll find a place to cook it somewhere down the road."

Clementine shifted, arms still crossed. She clearly had something to say. But Amelia knew from experience that if Clem didn't want to say it, nothing Amelia could say or do would pry it out of her.

"You think it was a mistake." Amelia guessed.

"No…"

"So…you're glad I did it."

"No."

That was it. She was conflicted. Frustrated with it. Hungry and trying to stay impartial between her sister and her new group, two parties who always seemed to be at odds thanks to one person in particular.

 _Right there with you, Clem._ Was it possible to be glad she did it and at the same time wish she hadn't?

"Clem, I just…" Amelia sighed, threw her hands out, tossed a glance back into the forest behind her. "I tried to make the right choice."

"I wish you hadn't run off by yourself like that," she said. "Something could've happened."

"Add it to the list," she muttered. There was plenty she had to answer for when the group made their next stop. When they were finished fleeing the scene of her last decision, there was going to be a talk. A long one. Maybe a loud one. She wasn't looking forward to it, and at the same time couldn't wait. She wanted it to be over and done.

That, and she wanted to explain herself. A chance to convince these people that she could still be trusted. This is, if they ever trusted her in the first place.

"I tried. You asked me to try, and I am. Really."

"I know." Clem said carefully. "I think they know you're trying, too. I'm just worried…it won't be enough."

Damn it. Amelia had recognized the anxiety on her sister's face from a mile away; it was easier to spot than to understand its cause, and suddenly it hit her like a punch in the nose.

"Are you worried they won't let us stay after this?"

"No…" Clem's eyes trailed out to the group. "No, I don't…think they'll…you know, kick us out…"

Amelia knew what it sounded like when Clementine was certain of something. This wasn't it. Amelia hesitated, unsure that words would be worth anything now. She knew Clementine would rather see her fix this than be told about it.

"Just wait. For the day. I'll talk to them. Okay? I'll fix…Clem?"

Her sister's hand caught her by the arm and her face changed in an instant, something that, in itself, struck Amelia cold and made her heartbeat pick up. Clem's eyes were wide and her mouth was open like she was about to say something, and either couldn't get the words out or decided not to. Both were equally bad signs. Amelia knew there was something behind her before she looked, and she turned around with thoughts of walkers and wild animals and found herself nearly up against a man who'd come out of the trees. Another followed, and came to a stop behind him.

Amelia put an arm out to keep Clementine behind her. She took a panicked step back and gave Clem a push, harder than she had ever pushed her sister or any child in her life; Clem stumbled away, and had to catch herself with two hands on the ground before standing back up.

"Amelia," she said, objecting quietly but keeping her distance. "Don't-"

Amelia ran her eyes over the strangers within arm's reach of her – or rather she was within arm's reach of them – looking for weapons, and she found them easily. The one closest to her had a handgun in his belt. The one behind him, the taller of the two, carried a shotgun. If he shot her at this range he could put a hole in her chest the size of a basketball _don't panic don't panic don't panic_

They looked prepared for the cold, all long sleeves and scarves and beanie hats. They looked like they'd been out here for a while, and the winter boots and heavy backpacks said they planned to stay. She tried to notice things about them, and couldn't find much. She couldn't tell what kind of frames they had under their snow jackets, any facial features she might have spotted were obscured by the scarves that covered half of their faces. They were tall and broad, but otherwise anonymous and forgettable. She was sure it wasn't an accident.

Amelia forced herself not to reach for her handgun. She fixated on it, her only lifeline left after Nick had walked away with his rifle. If her life was in danger, it was the only thing she had that would save her. Reaching for it too soon was also the fastest way to get these men to shoot her in the head.

 _They're probably going to do it anyway, idiot._

She expected them to. She expected them to move, to speak, to do something, and they didn't. The man in front of her looked over her shoulder, swept his gaze silently across the group behind her, then pulled his scarf down to his neck to reveal chapped lips and a scraggly, tangled mess of a beard.

"Hey, there."

Amelia could hear footsteps behind her, members of her group coming closer, but didn't dare to look. If it was Clementine, she was ready to push her again.

"Sorry if we scared you," he said, a half-smirk on his face suggesting he was trying not to smile more than he was. "Didn't mean any harm, sweetheart."

How did she let this happen? She turned her back to the forest for too long; long enough that she didn't see them until they were right behind her, close enough to grab her or stab her or break her neck. She never did that. Ever. It was a rule, something that came as naturally as breathing now. _Watch where your back is facing, always._ How did she fuck this up?

 _The group had you feeling too safe. You let your guard down because you didn't think anything could touch you with them around._

If she didn't die here, she'd take the lesson with her.

The man looked past her, swept his eyes over the tense postures and cautious faces of the group. "Hey, folks. Looks like we caught you moving out." He stuck a hand out, and Amelia had to force herself not to flinch when he did. "Del." He jerked his head toward his friend. "This is Louis."

She didn't reach for it. Didn't want to touch him. Didn't want to be anywhere near either of them but here she was.

"You gonna…give us your name? Or anyone's?" He got silence for an answer and turned to his friend with a grin. A small laugh. "Guess not."

Her back stiffened, reminding her of the handgun tucked into her waist, the grip hard against her spine. Her eyes darted between the two of them, watching their hands more than their faces and _she couldn't take being this close_. It was too dangerous. Too easy for them to do something she wouldn't be able to stop.

She slowly, took a cautious step back. The moment her foot touched grass behind her Del's hand shot out and caught her just above the elbow and he flashed an oil-slick grin, a smile made of grime and razor blades. "Woah, hold on, there,"

 _Alarms bells hot adrenaline in her veins ice in the pit of her stomach get away_

She heard several people behind her step forward, faster now, louder. She didn't see because she refused to take her eyes off of the man in front of her, knowing that looking away would be a mistake that could kill her. Nick said something, Pete raised his voice and gave them a warning she didn't understand because she wasn't listening. All she could hear was the constant and panicked stream of words her thoughts had become.

 _Don't make them mad or they'll shoot someone._

 _Don't say anything because they'll take it to mean what they want it to mean._

 _Don't turn your back or they'll take your gun._

"Alright, hey," Del took his hand back and held it up in the universal sign of surrender. Just the one. The other stayed at his side, a thumb hooked into his belt and within grabbing distance of of his gun. "Everyone relax, I'm just sayin' there's no need to back up. We're all friends, here, right?"

Was that what he called it?

 _Friends._ The word echoed in her head, its irony bottlenecking her thoughts and making her want to hit someone, making her regret treating her new group like strangers for all this time; it had been so long since she interacted with a real stranger she'd forgotten what it looked like. Pete, Luke, Alvin, Carlos, Rebecca, Sarah were not strangers. Nick wasn't a stranger. They were her friends. They shared water with her and treated her sister with kindness and watched her back at night while she slept. This was what a stranger looked like. She focused on his face, trying to keep her head through the haze of adrenaline, her heart pounding so hard she was getting lightheaded and remembered this is what strangers made her feel like.

Del put a hand to his chest, a gesture of sincerity that was insulting in its transparency. "I apologize. Alright?" Another grin spread over his face, slow like honey from broken jar. "Everyone's good here, right?"

 _Back away slowly._

Would he grab her again if she did? Or shoot her?

He threw a sideways look to his friend when she didn't respond. "She's not much of a talker, is she?"

Louis shrugged, and shook his head without a smile. He looked bored. "Guess not."

Amelia heard a voice speak up behind her, and turned just enough to see Luke in her peripheral, standing in front of Clementine with an arm out to keep her there.

"We…get nervous around strangers." He watched them carefully. His brow was creased and his jaw was set. He looked angry, she realized, and couldn't remember the last thing to make him angry that wasn't her. He had a hand on the gun at his hip, and she could tell how hard he was trying not to pull it. He knew as well as everyone that this could be escalated in a second, with nothing more than a flinch. "Sure you understand."

"I do, my friend," Del said, shaking his head at the unfortunate truth of their new world. _Damn shame._ "Absolutely do."

"Then…how about she just comes over here with me?"

Del inhaled through his teeth, a cheeky glint in his eyes. "Can't do that, unfortunately." He didn't explain, and once again Amelia had to stop herself from reaching for the gun they still hadn't checked her for.

 _Not the right time. You'll only get one chance._

She heard Nick's voice next, and could see from where she was that he had his rifle pointed at the ground, in their direction. A warning more than a threat. A subtle tilt upwards and he'd be aiming at their heads.

"It wasn't a question."

"Relax, no one here has to get hurt-"

"I disagree. I think someone's gonna get hurt here real fast."

The reckless, cocky part of Amelia's mind wanted her to smile. To look into his eyes and dare him to touch her again because she had backup this time. Maybe he would. Maybe he'd kill her. She had friends who would be happy to blow a hole in his head if he did.

She looked back to Del and settled for raising an eyebrow.

 _Maybe you should listen to him._

He caught it, to his credit. He didn't look or sound like it, but there was a cleverness in his eyes, somewhere. He was paying attention, unlike his friend. Louis looked like he'd rather have been anywhere than here. Like he was waiting for something, and getting tired of it. At least she knew which one she had to watch.

Del looked over Amelia's head, and raised his voice to address everyone as a group.

"Gentleman, gentleman, I see your guns. There's no need to get so hostile."

Somewhere behind Amelia, Pete chambered a round in his gun. The metallic shift of the action was heavy and loud and as much of a threat as he needed to make. "We'd be more up to talkin' if you didn't have a hostage."

Del's eyes trailed down to Pete's lower body, and he whistled at the red-stained bandage closing off his missing limb.

"Woah, sir! That looks fresh. The hell happened to you?"

"Take a step back, son."

 _Go ahead. Fuck with him._ Amelia would have paid to see this backwoods fuckwit, with his sleezy face and cocky grin, try to handle Pete. _You're poking a bear you don't want to wake up._

"Don't want to talk about it. Alright," he said, in a tone he might have thought was pleasant. But Amelia learned a long time ago that nothing was more disturbing than a person trying to act pleasant while they had a horror show going on inside their head. He chuckled. "No hostages, sir. Not sure why you'd think that. Do you feel like a hostage, sweetheart?"

No answer. Just a glare and the expression of a girl questioning the choices she'd made to get herself here.

"Right," he said, more to his friend than to her. "This one doesn't talk. Forgot." His friend answered with an apathetic nod. Turned his head and spit into the grass. "She's not a hostage," he said to her group, chuckling at the statement like it was a joke Pete had meant to make. _Good one._ "Just a, uh…person of interest."

Amelia didn't know what that meant, and hated the way it sounded. She glanced to Louis, who still wasn't paying much attention beyond the occasional nod. He looked lazy and dull, and his gun was heavy, which meant he'd be slow to draw. Hopefully.

" _Look_ , fellas, my friend and I were just passing through. We're out scouting for our group, and you wouldn't believe what we found out in the forest, not too far from here."

Amelia shook her head slightly, not about to ask a question she knew the answer to. She could see where they were going with this, and nothing she could've said could direct them away from it.

Del's eyes slid easily down to the backpack, then back up. "What's in the bag? Wouldn't be that deer…" he pointed over his shoulder without looking, a lazy one-armed wave. "…we found slaughtered a quarter mile out, would it?"

She didn't tell them no because they already knew the answer was yes. There wouldn't have been any point.

If this was what they wanted, then they could have it. Anything to get them to leave.

 _You really think that's all they want?_

She tried again to take a step back, and as she shifted to move Del's hand went slowly, casually to the gun on his belt. It was nonchalant, like he was trying to pretend it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd just moved.

 _Fucker._

Without warning, Nick raised his gun. He was staring at them down the sights and Pete and Luke simultaneously pulled theirs as well. They didn't look like they wanted to, but they couldn't leave Nick the only one with a weapon out. There were rules to this game they were playing. This game where no one wins. Russian roulette with six loaded chambers.

Del drew his gun as quickly as they did, holding it at arm's length and pointing it straight at Luke. "Hey, _heyheyheyhey!_ Easy! Why'd you have to go and do that?" Louis' shotgun was up, sweeping across each of them in turn. Over Nick, Luke and Clementine, Pete…and Amelia, at point-blank range.

"We're having a nice conversation. She's polite. I'm polite." Del asked Louis without looking at him and without waiting for an answer. "Aren't we having a nice talk? And now, you start reaching for guns, and we gotta do it this way."

Amelia tried to move again. She wanted to draw her gun, which by dumb luck they still didn't know she had. She would need distance for that. She couldn't do anything a foot and a half away from...

"Easy, kitty cat." Del put his gun on her, effectively freezing her where she stood. "Show us what's in the bag."

"You know what's in the bag."

"I appreciate the honesty. How about you give it here?"

"The rest of the deer is still out there. It's all yours."

"Ah. Can't do that, see, 'cause the crawlers already got to it. Meat's bad now. Afraid you've got the only good stuff."

 _Then take it._ She slipped it from her shoulders and held it out. If she'd been willing to risk her life to give him a middle finger, she'd have dropped it on the ground and let him pick it up.

"Thank you for being so agreeable," he said with a slow nod and a rattlesnake grin. He found something funny. Amelia didn't want to know what.

Clementine spoke from somewhere behind Luke, leaning out to see past him. "Don't hurt her."

 _No._

"Just take the bag and go."

 _Clem, stop._ Luke shared her thoughts, and put a hand to her shoulder.

"Clem-"

He turned to look for her, looking for the source of Clem's small voice and Amelia spoke suddenly, and loudly. "There's more than enough for the two of you." She didn't know what she was saying, didn't care. She didn't want this man's attention anywhere near Clementine. "That's all we have. So take it."

It didn't work. He'd already seen her and no amount of useless chatter could make him un-see her. "Look at that," he said. As if he knew that where there was one kid there was likely another, he looked out across the rest of the group until he spotted Sarah, hiding behind Carlos. He looked back to Amelia.

"You can go, now." She said, on-edge, impatient. "You have what you asked for." Just leave.

"Cute kids. You watching 'em close?"

Amelia lowered her voice. "What does that mean?"

"It means maybe your friends should give me their backpacks, too. Wouldn't want anything to happen to them, you know?"

 _Shouldn't have said that._

Amelia closed her eyes and tilted her head, cracking her neck loudly. _Stay calm, not yet,_ she would have given him the backpacks but y _ou really shouldn't have said that._

Louis suddenly seemed interested. He lowered his gun just a bit, seemed to straighten up and grow a smile of his own.

"I think you made her mad, Del."

"I think I did. You alright, sweetheart? No need to get worked up." He reached toward her head, like he was about to touch her face or her hair and the idea almost drove her to let him do it just so she could bite his fingers, crush them between her teeth with every intention of tearing them from his hand.

Fast and malicious, she slapped it away hard, volatile anger blooming in her chest at a rate faster than she knew what to do with. He was just fucking with her now. Taunting her, pulling her back and forth, trying to confuse her. It wasn't working the way he wanted it to; it was only pissing her off. Maybe that was what he wanted.

He drew his hand back when she hit it, curling his fingers and smiling to his friend. "We did make her mad."

"Look, you know how this is gonna go. I don't want to shoot anyone. I don't. Your friends over there seem real nice." He said this with his gun still trained at them, waving it around carelessly, which she thought was intentional. A twitch of his finger would have had Nick bleeding out on the ground. Luke crippled from the waist down. Pete's other kneecap blown off.

A hole in Clementine's head.

"You got the short end. It sucks. I feel for you, sweetheart, I really do. But you're all gonna drop your stuff, and pass it over here. Alright, boys?"

No one moved, and he pointed his gun straight up into the air and fired a warning shot. The _bang_ cracked throughout the clearing, tearing through the otherwise silent field and startling birds settled into the trees around them.

"Come on, guys," he grinned, arms out. "I know y'all heard me."

Luke was the first to comply, slipping his backpack from his shoulders and switching his gun from one hand to the other to avoid taking it off of them. He tossed it to their feet, starting a pile that the other bags in the group soon joined. Nick did the same, as did Alvin. Carlos took Sarah's backpack for her and passed it to Pete, who threw it to the two men with a scowl and a glare.

"That's it," Del said as the stolen supplies piled up in front of him. "Not so hard, right?" Back to Amelia. "Where's yours, sweetheart? This all you got?"

"That was it."

"Need me to check?"

Her face burned and she moved her hands to her hips, trying to get them closer to her gun, sick to her stomach and trying not to do the wrong thing at the wrong time.

 _Not yet._

" _I said that was it._ Take it and leave."

"You sure?" he stepped forward, and Amelia matched it with a step back. "'Cause I really feel like you're holding out on me…"

Her sister's voice came out of nowhere, and made her more afraid than anything Del had said or done so far. " _Leave her alone._ "

"Clementine, _shut up,_ " Amelia snapped, in what was easily the harshest tone she'd ever used with her sister.

But it was too late. Clem had his attention, and Amelia saw from the second he turned away that she wouldn't be able to pull it back. Suddenly everything she heard was a blur, a messy amalgamation of Del asking questions as he walked toward them, Luke giving a warning and tightening his grip on his gun.

 _You know what's happening. They have everything you own and they're still here. They want more and you don't have anything left to give._

Amelia's train of thought was braking at full speed, sparks flying off of red-hot rails, her inner voice of reason silenced by a horrible, panicked sound, a sound like gravel in a blender that she'd give anything, _anything_ to stop. Del turned his back and Louis still had his gun aimed at the ground, his gun that was heavy and slow to lift

 _-do it now_ -

She bet she could draw faster than he could, and she was right.

The gun was out of her jeans and in her outstretched hands before Louis saw. By the time he did it was too late; he lifted his shotgun just a bit, nowhere near enough before Amelia got his head in the sights. Red mist. A black hole between his eyes. His gun hit the ground before he did.

Del was her bigger problem. He whirled when he heard the shot, gun in hand, and she aimed for his head, she tried, but ended up putting it in his shoulder and knocking him to the ground in front of Luke and Clementine. Luke grabbed Clem by the arm and pulled her back, dragging her away from the man on the ground because he was still kicking, still reaching for the gun that had flown out of his hand and landed in the grass a few feet away.

Amelia caught up to him, still riding the adrenaline rush he'd given her, keeping in mind that hesitating now would be the fastest way to die. She started this. She had to finish it before he finished it for her. He crawled on his back, inching over the ground and reaching out for his gun. He got his hand around it seconds before Amelia was standing over him, and as he raised it to her she threw an arm across her body and lashed out in a full-armed sweep, backhanding the gun from his grip.

He moved fast. Faster than she thought he'd be. He didn't spend any time reaching for the gun and instead reached for his own ankle. Amelia caught sunlight glinting from something reflective and was too slow to see the knife until he slashed her across her lower leg. She hunched and screamed through gritted teeth, kicking him in the forearm and then stepping on it; his hand sprawled open like a dead spider on its back. She pointed her gun in his face and leaned her weight onto the foot crushing his wrist into the ground.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, holding up his other hand in surrender. The blood pouring from her calf dripped in gobs down her leg and into the open palm of the hand she'd pinned to the ground. "You don't have to-"

Amelia shot him once in the head. Had to restrain herself from doing it twice. Blood sprayed up, out, everywhere, _good thing you're wearing black_ a fountain of morbidity and irrevocable choices.

She dropped her gun within reaching distance of his body, able to breathe now, feeling safe for the first time today because a corpse couldn't pick it up and shoot her.

The silence in the clearing gave way to a white noise of voices, talking to her. Some yelling, others not, some cursing. Sarah screamed, and started crying. She ignored all of them and ran for the tree line. She barely made it to the trees before she lost her balance, fell to her hands and knees, and threw up in the dirt.


	14. Consequence

**A/N: Another note for anyone who's not about that fluff life.**

 **This is a paragraph meant to start Chapter 14 that turned into a short fluff chapter. If it's not your thing, the next (non-fluff) chapter is 90% finished and is coming soon. If it is, then please enjoy this chapter focused on the aftermath of Chapter 13.**

 **Thank you to everyone interested enough to add yourself to my follows list.** **Thank you to BHBrowne for beta-reading for me again, and for his continued interest in and support of my writing. He writes stories for TWDG and Life is Strange - they're wonderfully written and I really recommend them if you're looking for something new to read.**

 **And lastly thank you for reading my story!**

* * *

9:09 am

Amelia couldn't stop touching the stitches in her calf. She moved her fingers over the perfect suturing that ran in a horizontal line just above her ankle. From a certain angle it looked like someone had tried to sever her foot, before they changed their mind and sewed it back on for her. Like she was a rag doll who'd lost a limb to the family dog or a sadistic child with a pair of scissors.

She went over them with the tips of her fingers, feeling the way the ends of the stitches poked out of her skin while she searched her mind for something to say to Sarah.

She knew she'd fucked up. Namely because the most talkative little girl she'd ever met sat beside her, wordless and catatonic for the first time Amelia had seen in days. The silence made it hard to ignore that the last person to scare her like this had been Carver.

And now her.

" _You need to speak with my daughter." Carlos said, his gloved hands threading another stitch into her leg, which was propped up on his lap. Hours of walking had gotten the gash to darken around the edges, while the fresh blood that still seeped from its center was bright red._

 _Amelia didn't argue. She was barely listening. She stared at her own feet, still sick to her stomach and thinking about gunshots and grabbing hands and wondering if she still had blood splatter in her hair. Asking herself what she'd done as if the answer had changed since the last time she asked. Stuck in a frenzy of puzzle-piecing and analysis, trying to do the impossible and know what would have happened if the two men had lived. She vaguely remembered something about stitches hurting the last time she'd gotten them, and they probably hurt now. She hadn't been-_

" _Amelia." Carlos' voice was stern, and just loud enough to get her attention. She looked up, her eyes looking over his face as if she'd just remembered he was here._

" _Wh-what did you say…? I'm sorry…" she shook her head. She was sorry. For much more than ignoring him._

" _You need to talk to Sarah." Carlos didn't seem ready to accept apologies. He didn't seem much of anything. He'd been focused, and not very talkative while he stitched her up, working a familiar hooked needle through the blood seeping from her leg. Until now. "She will never forget what you did. You need to see what you can do to reduce the damage. It will…she will be more likely to listen if it comes from you."_

 _That was fair. She knew she'd…done damage. In more ways than one. The least she could do was try to fix it._

 _Carlos hesitated, something she'd never known him to do. He seemed to have something to say. Amelia waited; she wasn't going anywhere. She wouldn't have, even if he hadn't been holding a needle and thread stuck in her body._

" _For reasons I don't understand, she seems to be fascinated with you." Carlos began carefully, turning the needle over in his blood-soaked fingers. "She will remember what you say to her." He looked at Amelia. Found her eyes and showed her the face of a father who wasn't fucking around. A look she'd seen many times, from men she'd personally watched lose the children they were trying to protect. "Which means you will think very carefully about the words you choose. Is that clear?"_

She hadn't decided on any yet.

It was hard to think, looking out across the clearing and watching the group argue. She couldn't hear what they were saying. Didn't want to, yet. Maybe it was better to let them get the worst of it out. Their worst opinions, assumptions, fears. Put it all on the table while she wasn't around to hear it. The last thing she wanted was for their thoughts to go unsaid because they didn't want to say them in front of her.

Clementine decided to speak. She had to stand up and wave an arm to get everyone's attention, since the discussion was so heated. Whatever she said, it made Luke nod and Rebecca shake her head. Pete said something with a wave of his hand. Nick seemed to object. The argument started up again as quickly as it had stopped. She watched the gestures, the crossed arms, the body language of people who were disturbed. Angry. Watching her while trying to look like they weren't.

 _Stop watching._ Speculating about what they were saying wouldn't do her any good. She would only imagine the worst, whether or not the worst was actually happening. _Focus on something else._

"Um." Amelia had given up struggling for words minutes ago. They'd been sitting in silence since, and Sarah didn't seem to mind. She didn't seem…much of anything. She'd shut down again. Turned inward and retreated from the world outside. Amelia wanted to do the same."Do you…have any questions…? About-"

She looked up and turned straight toward Amelia, suddenly enough to surprise her. "Why did you shoot those men?"

The thousand-dollar question. The million-dollar question was whether or not her reason had been good enough. From the looks of the group discussion, the jury was still out. The midday sun straight above their heads was a reminder that they only had so much time before they had to move again.

"That's…a…good question..." She said, matching Sarah's posture by folding her arms over her knees. A deep breath. Then another. "I…I shot them…because…" she dragged it out, unsure of how to explain herself to a girl no older than fifteen. One who, according to her own father, had no idea what the world had become, and couldn't find out. Amelia believed him. She'd seen the way Sarah reacted to pressure. She'd seen her go catatonic, seen that Carlos wasn't exaggerating even a little when he said she would "cease to function." He couldn't have wanted Amelia to tell her the he'd said, the warning he'd given her couldn't possibly have meant that she was supposed to be honest with Sarah. To explain that people were horrid and couldn't be trusted, that it was easy to see when they had horrible plans in their minds and it was better to stop them before they got the chance.

 _Carlos cut the final stitch, looping the suturing thread around his finger to tie it off. He took a tube of antiseptic from his medical bag, and though it was already near-flat from top to bottom, squeezed the last of it out over Amelia's stitches before starting to wrap it for her. She thought about apologizing for needing so many of the medical supplies. Three rounds of stitches and antibiotic had taken a toll on what few supplies the group had. And now they were out of something any of the others could need, any day now._

 _He decided to speak before she did. "I want to thank you. Though I'm not sure that I should."_

 _She didn't know what it meant. His first words made her feel hopeful. Hopeful that there might've been one other person who would have made the choice she did._

" _I do not commend what you did." He tied off the bandage, spotting it here and there with her blood, before stripping his gloves off and tossing them into the grass. "But I can see you meant to protect us. Clementine was right about you."_

 _Amelia chose to stay silent. She felt it was best to be quiet and tread carefully through the minefield she'd dropped herself in._

" _I have no doubts that those men were bad people. And because of you they will never get anywhere near my daughter. I just wish it could have happened another way."_

 _Amelia didn't know what to make of it. She couldn't tell if she was receiving his approval or another warning. The two sounded the same, coming from him. "So do I."_

" _Talk to Sarah. I'm…concerned about how this will affect her."_

Sarah looked at her expectantly, worried. Her red glasses were crooked again, and it looked like she hadn't noticed. That, or she was too preoccupied to bother fixing them.

"…because…" Amelia said again. She thought of what she would say to an adult who asked her the same question. To someone who understood the reality they lived in and could handle the dark truth that made her decision…not right, but…reasonable, maybe. It was what she planned on saying to Luke, when he came to talk to her, since he would undoubtedly be the one to do it.

It was easy. The truth was easy, for once. She had a host of things she could tell him. Some would be better than others, but every one of them played a part in her decision to pull the trigger. Three times. Once at point-blank range.

 _I shot them because they wanted more than our stuff._

 _I shot them because they threatened Clementine and Sarah and Rebecca and Alvin's baby, in one way or another._

 _I shot them because they were going to shoot us, eventually, after doing much worse than that._

It wasn't right, and she wasn't about to pretend it was. And, thinking back to those men, the way they spoke, the way they acted, the way they took _everything from them_ and still didn't leave…the thought of letting it play out any further than it had shook Amelia so hard it was disorienting. She couldn't have let that happen. She couldn't have seen it any more than she could've imagined stepping in front of a moving train. Putting a gun to her own head and pulling the trigger and expecting to live. _It just doesn't happen._

So where did that leave them?

Amelia huffed a heavy sigh, dropping her head down onto her crossed arms. This was getting old, quickly. She sat up and decided to talk. Because talking without thinking had never gotten her into trouble before.

She decided to stick with simple truths, remembering that Carlos likely wanted her to lie and hoping this was somewhere in between.

"I did it because I was afraid they were going to hurt us." She told Sarah. "I really, really thought they were."

"…were they?"

"I don't know. We'll never know. But I really…think I was right. Those men were…I've met people like them before. They're…the bad people your dad told you about?" She phrased it like a question, hoping something would connect, hoping Sarah would understand if she could find the right way to say it.

Instead she frowned at her, a sudden hybrid of alarmed and confused. "The people chasing us?"

"No. But they were just like them."

"But…how do you know that?"

Amelia sighed, unsure of how to tell a kid her age that…sometimes she knew. Come to think of it she didn't know how to tell that to the adults in the group. But it was true. Every monster she'd crossed paths with in her life had something in common, some intangible quality that told her, from the moment she met them, that these people would kill her, given the chance. Her and her sister and every one of her friends. There were more bad people in the world than good, and only the very clever ones were able to hide what they were. The rest of them wore in on their faces, so plainly that she'd been stupid not to see it every time before.

And unfortunately, it had been others who paid the price for that stupidity, not her.

It wasn't proof. But it was enough that she was no longer willing to bet Clementine's life on the chance she was wrong. She'd been wrong too many times before to take that chance and not expect to lose.

"The point is…" she drummed her fingers on her kneecap. "It was wrong. I…" Should she say it in those words? "I killed someone. Two people. And it wasn't…okay."

"Um…okay…"

"Shooting people is…" she almost cringed at the simplicity of what she was about to say. _No shit._ _She knows this already. What the fuck do you think you're telling her-_ "…wrong. No matter what reason you have for doing it."

"But…if they were bad people…and you shot them because they were bad…?"

"It was still wrong." Amelia said. "It wasn't…to punish them. It wasn't…it was just to stop them from hurting us. That's all."

"And that was wrong?"

"It was…" Something in between. In infuriating medium that wasn't easily explained or understood, even by her. Necessity and rightfulness were two different things that rarely coincided anymore. But Sarah wouldn't understand that. And she knew in advance that Carlos wouldn't be pleased with her for introducing the idea. "It was wrong." Amelia left it at that. Simple. What Carlos wanted her to hear. About the limit of what she would understand. "And I wish I hadn't done it." _But I would do it again._

Shit.

Across the clearing, people were looking at her. Not one or two at a time, for a fleeting second, as they had been. All of them, all at once, and Amelia knew what it meant. She stood up, unsure of how to end her conversation with Sarah – and unsure of how much damage she'd managed to undo – but sure that someone was about to come speak to her. She saw Luke step away from the group like he was about to come get her and decided to beat him to it, if not meet him halfway.

She wasn't on her feet for five seconds when Sarah stood with her and threw her arms around Amelia's waist, squeezing her harder than she'd have liked, given how recently she'd just vomited in the bushes.

"Um-"

Sarah didn't seem to notice. She didn't let go, and Amelia didn't make her, despite not knowing how to react. She froze with her hands hovering in the air, before settling them around Sarah's shoulders and giving her an awkward pat on the back. Finally, the girl let her go.

"What…what was that for?" Amelia asked.

She shrugged, looking worried enough that Amelia knew she'd done a terrible job at what she'd set out to do. "I just really wanted a hug. You looked like you could use one, too."

She wasn't wrong. "…thanks."

Sarah ran a hand up and down her own arm, and gave her an earnest attempt at a smile. The grin she came up with was a shadow of what it normally was. Not much, compared to the way she'd smiled before. "No problem."

Looking out across the field, she could see the group was still waiting. She told Sarah to wait where she was, and made her way toward them feeling like an inmate on death row. A criminal on her long, final walk to the gallows.

 _Don't be stupid. You're the executioner here, not them._

* * *

12:31 pm

"I want to try it again," Clementine told her.

She stood in front of Amelia and walked backwards to face her; it was getting more and more difficult, given that the incline of the hillside they were climbing was getting steeper the higher they got. But, to her credit, Clem hadn't given up. Yet. It was why Amelia relented, and once again pulled her gun from her waist.

She knew the gun was empty – the magazine was already in her back pocket – but checked it again, pulling back the action and lifting it until she could see light coming through the chamber. "Okay," she said, shaking her head slightly and hoping Clem couldn't see the way Amelia was hiding her smile. She couldn't help it. She loved that Clementine had always liked learning things, and was relieved to see she still did. Even after everything that might have ruined that for her.

She tried not to give any warning. Not that it did much. Clementine was getting more and more difficult to catch by surprise. Amelia pointed the gun at her in a single sudden move, as fast and abrupt as she could make it. It didn't take Clementine more than a couple seconds to react; suddenly her arms were up, grabbing the barrel with one hand and pushing Amelia's inner wrist with her palm to force her hand off of the gun. It wasn't bad, to be fair. Amelia had a few complaints – she could've been faster and she was still too reserved in hitting her wrist to make her let go; she still wasn't sure if it was because Clem didn't want to hurt her or because she needed to learn to hit harder in general – but she saw the look on her sister's face and decided now wasn't the time to share them.

Clem turned the gun around in her hands, holding it out to her no doubt because she wanted to try again, immediately. Amelia took it from her and realized she'd seen this before. Once, years ago, after she disappeared through a doggie door and unlocked an abandoned Savannah home from the inside.

 _Big smile, standing up on her tippy-toes with her short arms up in the air and "Ta-da!"_

It looked different now that she was older. But Amelia could still see it. Still heard it even though it sounded like, "That was faster this time, right?"

"It was."

Clem frowned, having grown to be wary when Amelia gave short, simple answers. There had to be more. There almost always was. "What?"

"Did you hear the click?"

Clem's smile disappeared. "One more time." She answered Amelia's raised eyebrow with crossed arms. "I can do it,"

"Later." Amelia put the gun away, and realized she shouldn't have. Now that her hands were empty they felt strange. Jittery. Cold. A little numb. She took a sharp, quick breath. The cold forest air was like ice in her lungs and it didn't do much to quiet the electricity in her fingers or the feeling of blood rushing in her head.

"Amelia?" Clementine asked her quietly. "Are you-?"

"Cool!" Sarah chimed in from somewhere behind them, dragging the word out as she jogged to catch up with them. "I want to try," she said, all eagerness and hope and wonder, back to everything that made her who she was like the flip of a light switch. Amelia thought she was annoyed until she recognized her own jealousy, out of place and unreasonable but there all the same.

 _Speaking of._ She looked ahead, scanning across each of the people walking around her until she found Luke, not far off to her right. She remembered the way their last conversation had ended. He'd looked like he had something to say. Still did.

" _So…" Amelia started the conversation quietly, seeing quickly that no one else was about to. "What does…everyone think? I want to know." The exchanged glances, crossed arms, and quiet discomfort told her she was surrounded by strong opinions. About her._

Hours later, she was wishing she hadn't asked, and wouldn't be doing it again.

Whatever he'd had on his mind, he didn't share it. She thought it fair, seeing how she much she'd heard from him already.

"… _and if you had listened to any of us in the first place, none of it would'a happened."_

" _I know." That much, she agreed with, and was sorry for. She'd have said it if she hadn't already, half a dozen times. It was getting so redundant she worried she was only making it worse with each new apology. But didn't ask for any of this. Or rather, she did but never meant to. "You're right."_

 _She held herself back from telling him it was a part of why she did it. She'd drawn those men to their camp, and it made her responsible for anything they might have done. She worried that if they knew – or if she said it rather, since it wasn't hard to guess – they would see her actions as an attempt to cover her own ass. Which they weren't…she thought._

 _His arms were crossed, and had been since she approached the group. Defensive, a barrier between him and her that she hoped wasn't there because he thought she was dangerous now. His once-angry expression had long turned to stern frustration. She imagined him to be the kind of parent that didn't yell when his children were guilty, but crossed his arms and lectured until the sun came up the next morning._ I'm not mad, just disappointed.

 _She realized that made her the child, in trouble for playing with guns, and wondered bitterly who among them was the angry parent. The one who yelled._

 _No one was, and none of them did. After a while she almost wished that somebody would._

"Amelia."

"Hm?" she looked to her sister, who'd fallen into step beside her. She pointed toward Sarah. Whatever Clementine was referring to, Amelia hadn't heard. She looked to Sarah and waited.

She clasped her hands together, eyes wide and excited. "Can I try it, too?"

"Ask your dad." She hoped she wouldn't. She was grateful Carlos hadn't been nearby to hear her ask. It only occurred to her now that she probably should have put her gun away altogether, and left it there.

"Um," Sarah looked around, hesitating. "Never mind." After a beat of awkward silence, she slowed down to fall back in the group and walk with Carlos.

"You could have shown her, too." Clementine suggested. Amelia looked down sharply, sure she was joking. Clem wasn't looking at her, and Amelia saw only the top of her hat. "I think she should know how to do it."

"Clem, I think I've…done enough. For a while." Enough involving guns and Carlos' daughter.

" _Look…with the way he was walkin' up on Clementine I see why you did it. I…might've done it too." Luke didn't seem to like what he was saying, and she wasn't sure if he meant it or if he was just trying not to be so hard on her. Trying to be fair when there were no fair points to give in her favor. "It just...Amelia, you didn't even blink."_

 _Was that what this was about? Not what she did, but in the way she did it? There had to be more to it than that._

" _Do you mean that? You would have done it, too?"_

"…" _Luke broke eye contact, and whether he meant to or not, looked to the ground in a way that said two things: the answer was yes, and he wasn't proud of it. Which meant he wasn't proud of her. Something she didn't realize how much she'd dislike until she felt it._

Clementine walked beside her, trudging along the uphill path for a long silence. Long enough for Amelia to relive more of that conversation than she'd have liked to.

She remembered it all in vivid detail she couldn't forget, replaying it in her mind – not for the first time since it had happened – after isolating herself from the others. She remembered each person's words and tried to understand what they meant, what they now thought of her. Whether they could trust her now and whether they ever had in the first place.

She remembered Luke pointing out what had occurred to her more than once already before he said it.

" _You got the gun out of his hands. He was unarmed. I'm just gonna say it…I think you went too far."_

She remembered Nick cutting in, too fast and a little too loud, and remembered thinking he shouldn't have. Not this time.

" _Are you saying she should've let him go? He would've come back with more of his people. We'd be in front of a firing squad right now,"_

" _Calm down, Nick." Pete shook his head, broadcasting disapproval that Amelia didn't like seeing, despite not knowing who it was for – her or Nick. It always seemed to be one of the two._

" _I'm just saying," Nick snapped back at him, which he hadn't done in days. "You know it had to be done!"_

" _And I'm sayin' you need to calm down, boy! We don't need everyone gettin' riled up right now!"_

 _Amelia stayed quiet. Even she agreed he was coming in too hot. But she was grateful for an ally, one person who was pointing fingers somewhere other than her, and wasn't about to say so._

She curled her hands, put one fist inside the other and pressed until her fingers popped, remembering the way Pete shook his head. Remembering that with all the horrors Pete already had to live with she'd given him one more.

" _You gunned those men down without flinching. That's somethin' you never get used to seein'. But to tell you the truth, Luke, there aren't many ways a confrontation like that'll end."_

Clementine spoke her name, and got her attention. Her voice was quiet in a way that said she already knew the answer, and knew it long before she asked. "Are you still thinking about it?"

She was. Words were coming and going, starting to lose focus and fall out of chronological order. She remembered a _"Hey, they're the ones that tried to rob us. We didn't ask for trouble-"_ interrupted sharply by _"Alvin, please."_

 _Bec and I are staying out of it_ and _Was she supposed to wait until they shot someone first_ and _I'm just sayin' bein' the first to shoot ain't always better_ and _I'm sorry_ and she felt herself starting to sweat, despite the frost on the grass and the frigid air that had everyone huddling inside their jackets. This was bad. This was bad. This was bad, and she didn't know how to fix it. Everything she tried to fix ended up more fucked than it was in the first place. Her mistakes were fatal and permanent and she couldn't decide which of her skeletons was worse – the one she was hiding from the group or the one they'd all seen firsthand. _Give them a day and a half and they'll decide you and Clem need to go,_ she thought. _This was your last chance. You won't meet people like them again, not in your short lifetime._ She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, pressing down hard to steady her hands s _top shaking-_

"Amelia," Clementine said again, stopping in front of her and forcing her sister to stop with her. Clem's eyes darted up and down, fast, almost frantic. "What's wrong with you?"

Amelia looked around, over Clem's head to see others had stopped, too. From a short distance she could see but not hear as people started to fan out, lay their backpacks on the ground. They were making another rest stop, and Amelia – aware of how little time that gave her – looked around until she spotted the person she'd been looking for.

"Nothing…" She trailed off, walking past Clementine and toward the group. She was out of earshot before she muttered. "Nothing's wrong…" as if her sister could still hear her.

* * *

12:43 pm

She lied again.

" _I have to show you something."_ That's what she'd said to get him out here.

Then again, she realized, it wasn't completely untrue.

" _What is it? Are you…" he trailed off, blinking through his surprise when she stopped just in front of him, turned around and stood up on her toes. "…o-okay…?" He cleared his throat, looking from her eyes to her mouth then back, then back again. "Are you alright, I mean…? That's…what I meant…"_

 _She didn't answer his question, and had no intention of bringing up anything she felt. As far as she was concerned it was the fastest way to get him to run in the other direction. Besides that, she wouldn't have known what to say._ Okay _was starting to sound like a word she'd repeated too often in her head, for so long that it didn't mean anything anymore._

" _Do you have a minute?" She wasn't good at being direct with him. That much, she'd shown herself more than once. She looked up into his eyes, close enough to feel his breath shudder when he reached up to adjust his hat and looked for something else to say. She tilted her head, waiting. It was as clear of an invitation as he was going to get._

" _I…have…uh-" He dragged his words out, buying time to think. She could see him carefully running through the words he had to choose from and hesitating to pick the right ones. She wondered whether it was a quality of his, or a fault of hers. Whether he was the type of person to worry over making mistakes or whether she'd made him feel that way. "…more than that, for you,"_

 _Glad to hear it._

So here they were, again. Trains colliding, broken pieces of glass trying to fit together despite missing an uncountable number of tiny shards. She didn't have a name for it and didn't want to give it one. He'd picked her up, or maybe she'd jumped – she didn't recall because things were starting to run together like the colors of a wet painting – and wrapped herself around him like the life raft he was. Somewhere along the way he'd backed her up against a tree trunk, holding her up while she clung to him with her arms around his shoulders and her mouth on his, refusing to come up for air she felt she didn't need.

Same drill, different day, and nowhere near as nice. The two of them had her to thank for that.

Then again, she hadn't come here for _nice._

She'd come out here to dodge the shitshow going on inside her head, convinced despite all reason and evidence that her feelings couldn't catch her if she ran fast enough. She couldn't say she hadn't gotten what she wanted. It didn't just quiet the thoughts she didn't want to hear from, went far beyond drowning them out. It looped a fucking piano wire around their necks and dragged them away kicking.

The gun in her hand that lost three bullets but somehow became much heavier. The blood and the crying girl and _wait wait wait,_ the unambiguous proof that he was begging for his life when she shot him dead. The two bodies they left to the animals, after moving them deeper into the woods so as not to leave a trail. They followed her, as hard as she tried to leave them behind. But then she'd taken the fireworks and butterflies of their first night, heated it all to a boiling point and mainlined it straight into her veins. And just like that, all of it was lost. Thrown away in a haze of lip biting and hair grabbing and body heat.

She looked at herself and thought about a flooded beach she'd seen once. Deserted and littered with downed trees and broken chairs. Pilings of shattered wood and drowned umbrellas and dead things. A cloudy disaster no one wanted to visit, herself included. Her only saving grace was the rising water, pouring in over everything about her that made her damaged so she could at least pretend not to be such a mess. At high tide she looked normal from a distance and it could only be seen as the lie it was by those unfortunate enough to be close to her.

She wanted to dive in head-first, whatever it took to get away from everything she was above the surface. She wanted to forget, to be submerged, dark and freezing as the water was because it was a small price to pay. She wanted to be oblivious. Weightless and cold and unafraid of the fact that she wasn't able to breathe-

 _-but life is for the living-_

So she did, and she was, before he muttered, "Wait," and pulled away from her, breathing hard and taking the tide with him. Taking away the last resort she had for fixing her problem without fixing it.

 _Wait for what?_ She couldn't think of a good answer to her own question, not in the seconds she spent trying. She didn't want to.

"What?" She heard the impatience in her own voice and hoped he'd hear it too. Hoped he'd drop whatever he was about to bring up and take what she was offering while it was still on the table. She hadn't expected him to interrupt, or argue, or ask her anything. She was trying to give him what he'd wanted because at the same time it would give her what she wanted – needed, maybe – from him. She'd dropped it into his lap; every time she'd been here, with every person she'd been here with, they'd gone along with it without any questions. She'd never met anyone – any man she could think of – who wouldn't.

She didn't want to talk. Talking freed her mind to wander, when there were too many places it was unsafe to go. The people and things she didn't want to think about were a minefield, placed so densely around her thoughts that any step in any direction would have her losing her mind. Writhing in the aftermath of doing something very stupid that she couldn't take back. She didn't want to talk, didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear. She wanted to feel arms around her and hear running water roaring in her ears so she wouldn't have to think.

"Is now really…the time to do this?"

"Look, if you don't want to…"

" _No,_ no, I do. Don't think I…" He shook his head, frustrated enough that she didn't think for a second it was at anyone but her. "I-"

"Then what's the problem?" Whatever it was, she couldn't think of any reason it couldn't wait. She could hear it later. Unless it had something to do with her. If that was the case, she didn't want to hear it ever.

"Amelia, come on," he said, sounding like he was on the verge of rolling his eyes.

"Fine," she said, her voice coming out higher than she'd meant it to. She braced her hands on his shoulders and let herself down, hopping to the ground and crushing dead leaves beneath her feet. "You're not into it, clearly. I got it." She wasn't about to push, or pry, or ask more than once. She reacted badly – impulsively, violently, preemptively – to having her own boundaries crossed. Stepping over those set by others – that was one thing she didn't do.

"Stop, hold on." He turned to follow her when she gently shouldered past him. "You know that's not it. You know what this is really about,"

She did. And she wouldn't be admitting it to him anytime soon. She turned around sharply, meeting him face-to-face and surprising him into stopping short. She hadn't meant to startle him; her own movements were more abrupt than she was used to. She had too much energy and no idea where it had come from. It had her hands unsteady, her thoughts quick and impatient, and her legs burning to sprint somewhere far away.

"People are probably looking for us."

"You're not okay. We can all see it."

"Congratulations." She wasn't done, not at first. The rising panic in her chest had her feeling defensive when she hadn't been attacked. It urged her to resort to sarcasm, her cheapest defense mechanism. She had to stop herself from asking him if he wanted a cookie for figuring out the obvious, worried that if she was mean enough he wouldn't kiss her again. "I said I just needed you to wait while I figure things out. And I'm done…doing that… so you don't have to wait anymore." She fought the urge to shrug. "Alright?"

"That's not what you meant. I know that's not what you meant."

Amelia almost threw her hands up, exasperated and long out of patience. "It is if you go with it,"

"Are you serious? I'm not just gonna…" Nick cut himself off, maybe because like her, he felt particular words were better left unsaid. That, or they were too hard to say. "Amelia, you need…some kind of help that…this…isn't gonna give you."

She started walking away and talking to him at the same time, sensible choices being the least of her concerns. "I think I'm-" she stopped doing both when he reached for her, catching her by the arm and guiding her to turn back around.

"-come on, don't be like that-"

"- _I think I'm_ the one to judge what kind of help I need."

 _No you don't. Because you're not._

"I don't-" He stopped himself again, and she was caught between feeling sorry for dragging him into this – sorry for every time he tried to tell her something he didn't seem ready to say – and thinking it was his own fault that he hadn't figured it out yet. She couldn't help that he hadn't picked up the secret from her: that the easiest way to avoid this was to avoid talking at all. "You think I've never done this before? It won't make you feel any better." She could see thoughts running by behind his eyes, unpleasant memories that meant she may have had more in common with him than she already thought. "You just…feel worse when it's over."

"I don't think I can feel any worse than I do." She regretted the words after they'd come out. Not because they weren't true but because the world around her would, if anything, take that as a challenge. _She'd_ take it as a challenge – that small-

- _"small." It's fucking enormous-_

 _-_ part of herself that liked to seek out all things self-destructive like she needed something inside her to break in order to be whole.

He brought a hand up to the side of her face, touching her along her jawline, similar to the way Del had tried to and at the same time nothing like it. He ran a thumb over her cheek and frowned at her like he was trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces, solve a Rubix cube in black and white, _knowing_ it was likely impossible and a waste of his time but hadn't given up on it yet for some reason she couldn't think of.

And he didn't say anything, for a moment. Maybe he had figured it out.

His hand trailed down her neck, stopping when his fingertips were on her collarbone and his palm was flat over her heart. She watched his face change just as she was wondering how he'd react if she kissed him again then and there, not because she wanted to be distracted but because he was looking at her in a way that made it hard to think about anything else.

"Jesus, your heart is beating… _way_ too fast. Have you been like this all day?"

"I don't know," Amelia answered sharply, quickly, but honestly. She had no idea, and probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't noticed for her. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to calm down-"

"I'm calm-"

"-you're not-"

" _I'm calm._ "

"-calm, _Amelia._ You're not." He raised his voice just enough to get her to listen, seeming to know that hearing and listening were different things and at the moment she was doing one and not the other. "You're panicking."

 _The fuck does that mean?_ Before she could ask in as harsh a tone as she could manage, his hands were on her shoulders again. He took one of her wrists – her left – and brought it up, turning it until her own hand was placed flat on her chest, where his had been. Like she was saluting the flag with the wrong hand.

"What are you-"

"Just trust me-"

"-I don't need you to-"

"-this helps. Listen."

She did. Only when she stopped raising her voice to him, stopped defending herself from someone who was trying to help her, not hurt her did she start to feel her own heartbeat, pounding away against her palm hard enough that she realized why she'd felt close to passing out earlier.

"It's happened to me." Nick told her, hands in his pockets and making her wish he'd touch her again, now that he'd stopped trying. "Sarah does it, sometimes. This is, uh…what you do. You count. And-and…" Amelia wanted to look elsewhere, was about to start darting her eyes between everything around and behind him when she realized he was just as, if not far more uncomfortable. He was looking away, looking to the trees behind her and down to his shoes like he was doing it just for the sake of glancing around when they both knew better. "You breathe. In time with the counting. It helps."

"It helps." She repeated, numb and doubtful.

He nodded.

Her first thought was _bullshit._ But apparently not bullshit enough for her to count her heartbeats until she reached ten. Then ten again. Then twenty. She didn't bother to breathe with it, but the counting preoccupied her. She was too busy keeping track to remember what had her so on edge. She wondered how long she could keep it that way.

"Um-" Nick broke the silence. "I'll be…back at the camp, if you…need anything." She answered with a nod. No talking. Not yet. She listened as he left, his footfalls in the brush creating a second rhythm, alternating and inconsistent with the one pounding away beneath her palm. She tried to count them both at once, switching between them every time one interrupted the other. It was impossible, but not frustrating. A tedious distraction. Peaceful chaos.

When she was alone, she breathed in for a count of five. She breathed again, trying to make it for a full count of ten.

Silence. Birds. A gentle, freezing cold breeze. And nothing else. There was something else, maybe. In the distance. Far away from her. Too far away to be heard. Breathe. Count up to thirty. Breathe. Count back down.

Ten minutes later, she rejoined the group. She sat down by her sister and didn't say a word. Clementine didn't ask her anything; they waited until the group was ready to move, and got up when it was time to leave with them.

Twenty minutes after that, Nick caught up with her as the group walked. Asked her if she was going to be alright.

She lied again.


	15. Cold Blood

_What's the worst he could do when-_

 _-if-_

 _-he finds out?_

He wouldn't be able to get away with much. Not with his uncle around. On the other hand, Amelia hadn't forgotten to be just as worried about Pete's reaction as she was Nick's.

He might scream. Maybe at her. Might start breaking things again, this time because he needed to more than wanted to. He probably wouldn't talk to her anymore. She told herself it wouldn't bother her. Then told herself again.

She wasn't a stranger to this. She'd shown herself over and over that, for reasons she didn't understand, she couldn't resist digging holes and jumping into them. But this one seemed particularly deep. And narrow. She was five days into a transgression she didn't know that these people would have forgiven on day one. It didn't bother her at the time because she didn't care either way. Then she made the mistake of getting to know them. And starting to like them. She'd made friends, both a gift and a curse she wouldn't return if she had the chance. But it meant she now had something on her back. Something the others would despise her for unloading onto them. Something that would crush her if she kept it to herself.

 _Make your choice._

Not yet, she decided. She wasn't going to choose yet. That was the beauty of carrying the burden alone: no one around her would make her do otherwise.

Or judge her the way she was judging herself.

"Amelia…" Clementine said, arms crossed and raising an eyebrow. She passed a hand in front of her face, a half-hearted wave that whiffed just in front of her nose. Asking "Are you listening?" while knowing the answer was no.

Right. Clem had been telling her something. About…hats? No…about her hat. Dad's hat.

Amelia nodded, coming back into focus and paying attention to her surroundings. To her sister, to the massive chasm of a ravine cutting through the valley behind her, and the rust-red bridge that ran across it. She crossed her legs in the grass, having taken a seat to wait for Luke to find the bridge on the map.

It had been a few minutes – long enough for her mind to float away, wander to other places– and she found herself thinking he should've had Nick do it.

"Yeah…" Amelia said, tore her gaze from Luke's back and focused again on her sister. "I was…listening."

The bluff was so obvious Clem didn't even feel the need to call it out. "Amelia."

"Hm?"

"I was saying your hair is getting long."

"Were you?"

"Yes. I said you made me cut my hair when I was little. And you cut yours but it's growing back out."

"Hm." Amelia already knew where this was going. She wasn't a fan of this particular topic of discussion. But her sister was relentless. This, she already knew. It was probably why Amelia had tuned her out in the first place.

Clem started tapping a foot in the grass, stepping on dead leaves in a rhythmic pattern. _Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunch._ "Amelia."

" _Yes_ , Clementine?" Amelia heard the warning in her own voice, both in her tone and in her punctuated use of Clem's full first name. _Should've dropped her middle name, too._ Amelia thought bitterly as the memory resurfaced out of nowhere, quick and nimble. A little whack-a-mole popping up out of her recent past to take a lightning-fast jab at her pride. Yes. She remembered that. She wouldn't be forgetting it any time soon.

"You said we had to cut my hair because it was too easy to grab." Clem wasn't deterred. Didn't even slow down. "You said it was to keep me safe. You remember saying that?"

"I do remember saying that." Under different circumstances, Amelia would have applauded her. She'd figured out at a very young age that Amelia wouldn't argue with her own words, and had used them against her more than once. And here she was, still doing it. _Damn. Kid's good._ "So?"

"So your ponytail is really easy to grab."

A slow ten seconds ticked by, wherein Amelia refused to break eye contact, trying not to show that her resolve was any weaker than her sister's. She weighed safety and practicality against the fact that she liked her ponytail and didn't want to give Clem the satisfaction of being right today. Again.

"…"

Clem tilted her head. Waiting for something she knew would happen eventually. "Hm?"

She was patient. One of the many things she was that Amelia was not. One of the many ways she balanced the two of them out. On most days, it didn't bother her. Having someone who could make up for her shortcomings made Amelia's life easier. In most cases.

"Get me a knife."

Clem broke out into a smile, sudden and small. She turned on a heel and went straight to Luke, who was speaking with Carlos not three feet away. Clem came to a stop – almost skidded in the dirt-

 _-roadrunner-_

\- and waited quietly to avoid interrupting Carlos, who asked,

"Do you really think it's a good place to spend the night?"

"Well, that'd depend on how fast you think we can get there," Luke answered him.

"That's not what I meant." Carlos said. "Do you think it's empty?"

Luke didn't answer, likely because he hadn't thought of that yet. He looked up to the ski lodge situated near the top of the mountain, as if he could gauge whether there were people inside from down here. She wished he could. He noticed Clementine as he was folding the map to put it away.

"Hey there, Clem."

"Can I borrow that, please?" she asked, pointing to the pocket knife he kept clipped to his belt.

"Uh-" Luke covered it with his hand, like he was worried she would snatch it and run before he answered. Amelia wouldn't have put it past her, and she realized maybe Luke had gotten to know her sister more than she'd realized. She saw him hesitate and realized a part of him still lived in the world that used to be. The world in which he would never give a camping knife to an eleven-year-old, no matter how smart she was or how politely she asked. "What for?"

"I need to borrow it."

He looked over her head to Amelia. Since she couldn't tell whether he was looking for a judgment call or an explanation, she gave him a shrug. She watched him process the idea, and watched his face change as he remembered that things were different now, that Clementine and everyone around her was likely _safer_ if he put a knife in her hands.

He pulled it with a faint _click_ and handed it to her slowly, still reconsidering his choice even as he was doing it. "Just be careful."

She ran it back to Amelia, who almost swore she saw a skip in her step, and dropped it into her hand.

"Thank you."

Clementine heard the sarcasm dripping from her words, and answered in a tone to match. "You're welcome."

Once it was in her hand, Amelia flipped the blade out with a sharp flick of her wrist.

Luke started to speak behind Clementine, and trailed off. "What are you…?"

With one final look to her sister – not entirely friendly – she reached behind her head and wrapped her ponytail around her hand, trapping it in her fist. She slipped the blade's serrated edge up underneath her hair and with a single sharp, upward jerk, cut it nearly down to the hair tie. She was left with six inches of brunette curls loose in her fist and a ponytail half as long as it had been. She tossed her severed locks to the ground, where they camouflaged with the dirt.

She closed Luke's knife and carefully returned it to her sister, who took it back but didn't leave. She tilted her head this way and that, like she was trying to decide if the liked a painting in a museum. Or trying to come up with a particularly frustrating word for a crossword puzzle.

Finally, a smile. "I think it looks cute."

"Aren't you sweet."

"I mean it, Amelia. I like it." Clem turned the knife over in her hands, looking down to flick at the metal clip that kept it attached to pockets and belts. "And I like that it's safer than…the way it was."

Amelia felt her own face soften. As persistent as Clem was, Amelia had known from the beginning that it was for a reason. One that had nothing to do with malice or spite.

"Same."

"Well," Luke approached as Clementine held his knife out for him. "Alright, then. Clem, why don't you use your binoculars to check out that ski lodge?"

"Okay," she answered, and before Amelia knew it she'd climbed the boulder until she was leaning over its top, binoculars out and scanning the distance for signs of movement.

 _Forgot how fast she is. Zoom._

Luke stood behind her, and though it wasn't obvious, Amelia could see in the way he was watching that he was spotting her, in case she slipped. "See anything in the windows?"

"No…" she shifted, looking for better footing while she moved her binoculars over each of the lodge's massive windows in turn. "It just looks dark inside."

"What about the bridge? Does it look passable?"

"I think so…" Clem trailed over to the bridge, adjusting back a little after moving too far. "There are…some train cars, I think. But I don't see any walkers."

"Alright. Good."

"There's this little house on the other side, too."

"We have to cross that bridge. Let's go." Carlos seemed to think they'd already wasted enough time, and Amelia agreed. But she didn't move. Five days with these people had been enough to show her how they did things. By now, she knew better than to think the decision would be made that simply. She stayed seated on the ground, knowing this wasn't the end of a conversation, but the beginning.

"Hold on, now," Luke said. "We can't all go sprintin' across that thing, okay? We get spotted out there, we're gonna be trapped."

"Going around that lake will take too long."

"Right…"

She hugged her knees to her chest and looked around to see if anyone else felt the way she did. She glanced at Rebecca and Alvin, who exchanged a look but otherwise stayed out of it. She ran her eyes over Nick to see he was already looking back. The eye contact lasted for a count of three before ending in a one-shouldered shrug from her and a head-scratch from him. They went back to minding their own business, leaving Amelia unsure which one of them had broken it first.

Amelia stood up, deciding she wanted to wander. She heard something about splitting up the group and bad ideas but at the same time had a crick in her shoulder she really, really wanted to pop. Letting others make the decisions, after all, was one of the few things she'd managed to get used to. It was a relief, to be honest. When the choice was made, they would fill her in on whatever part she needed to play in it, if any.

They could do the arguing. They could handle the pressure of making the right decision when wrong decisions could get someone killed. It was a burden she'd carried for years, and didn't need anymore. _Knock yourself out._

"Well, I think it'd be easier to just ask her," Luke said. Suddenly she was pulled back into the debate, her attention snared involuntarily by the sound of her name. "Amelia?"

She looked between him and Carlos, between two faces characteristically friendly and unfriendly, and realized she'd been asked a question.

After a beat of silence, Clementine elbowed Luke in the hip and talked to him in a conspiratorial whisper. Like she was giving him test answers or letting him in on a secret Amelia could've done without him knowing.

"She wasn't paying attention."

Amelia did her best not to scoff, something else she and Clem both knew she did when she was caught off-guard. "Thanks, Clem."

"That's the face you make."

"I'm not making a face-"

"Enough." Carlos held up a hand to silence their argument. Which was fine by Amelia, given that…she'd been losing. "We think you should go with Luke to make sure the bridge is safe. Can you do it or not?"

She nodded, answering quickly both because she was ready to do something, anything…and because the impatience in Carlos' tone made her feel she had a time limit to tell him what he wanted to hear. "Yeah. No problem."

"And me," Clem added. "You're coming with Luke, and me. Right?"

Amelia couldn't tell who she was asking, but she had a guess. Clem already knew what her answer would be.

Luke tilted his head. She might've thought he was thinking about it carefully if he'd taken more than a second to answer. "I don't see why not,"

"Excuse me?" Amelia buried a laugh beneath her words, putting a hand over her bruised shoulder and pushing back, slowly. _Pop._ _There it is._

Clementine crossed her arms, in a way Amelia had seen too many times already. _This is where it starts, then._

"I can do it." she insisted. "We won't-" She hesitated, for a second just long enough to notice. "-have any problems."

"I believe you _think_ there won't be problems," Amelia shifted in the short silence that followed. She looked out again at the bridge, and the drop beneath it that was easily a hundred feet. "Clem, come on. You already know I'm not going for this." _Let's skip to the end, please._

Clem turned to Luke, an expectant look on her face as if she thought he could, and would try to change her mind, when Amelia knew only one of those things was true. He scratched the back of his head, buying time. "I…look Clem, I wanted to bring you. But…" he gestured to Amelia with a wave of his hand. "You heard her."

Oh.

Amelia hadn't been expecting that.

"Um. Thank you."

He nodded to her and smiled at Clem, trying to play it off as the pleasant end to an easy conversation. Clementine saw it, and it didn't stop her from looking heartbroken anyway.

"Really?"

"Sorry, kid."

Clementine's attention was back on Amelia before she was ready for it. She crossed her arms and planted both feet on the ground. Like Amelia was trying to physically knock her over rather than get her to stay put for the next ten minutes. "I'm going."

"We don't know what's out there, Clem." Amelia sighed heavily, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the day they'd spent walking uphill. They weren't doing this again. _Again._ Not here and not now, when they had things to do and a limited amount of time to do it. Not when a madman and God-knew-how-many of his people were somewhere in the forest behind them.

But it was more than that. Amelia was just…tired of it. So, _so_ tired of fighting the same fight with her sister every time she refused to let her make a water run on her own. Every time Amelia told her to hide while she went out looking for food. It had been easier when Clem was younger, when she still listened to her out of some obligation to obey authority figures, despite nearly all of them being dead and gone. When she got old enough to realize it, to understand that the new world didn't include any of the rules she was raised to follow, she started insisting that Amelia needed to make a better case than _I'm the adult, you're the kid_.

"Duh." Clem told her. "We never know what's out there. I can handle it."

Still, for as long as she refused to duct tape her sister to a wall, it was all she had. "You're the kid. You don't have to do these things."

She heard the dismissive tone of her own voice, and knew she'd apologize for it later. But for the time being, there wasn't time to repeat Clementine's second-favorite argument again, just for the sake of arguing. The clouds in the distance were a darkening shade of orange; the sun had already set, the air was getting cold, and the group was running out of time to make it into the lodge before night came and brought all its dangers with it. She waved to Luke as she passed, gesturing for him to come with her despite not knowing exactly where she was leading him.

Clementine spoke from behind them, once again sincere when Amelia would've expected her to be angry-

 _-why do you always think she's going to be angry? She's not you-_

-and once again, compelling Amelia to listen against her better judgment.

"You took care of me for a long time. It's my turn to help."

Amelia stopped. And she thought about it.

They were the same. Equally protective and equally stubborn and in the past two years neither of them had given in and decided the other should be in more danger than themselves. And she was tired of it. Which meant they could keep fighting the same fight, once every few days for the rest of their lives…or one of them could decide to change something.

"Okay."

"…okay?"

She turned back, arms crossed defensively because she didn't like what she was doing, didn't entirely _know_ what she was doing.

"Yeah." _Are you really about to say this? Idiot…_ "We've been separated twice-"

 _-not counting the first time, the worst time-_

"-now, and both times, you…you did good. You showed me, and everyone that you can handle it when…things go wrong. So I'm not going to tell you what to do anymore. Because you're smart, and tough, and I know you can handle it."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Now, I'm _asking_ that you choose to stay here. For me."

She watched Clem mull over the idea, and hoped she'd been right in thinking that treating her like an adult would get her act like one. Amelia tried to ignore that there was a reason she didn't want to be treated like a child, despite knowing exactly what it was. Clementine had been a kid, once. But that was before Macon, before Savannah, before she'd visited the dairy farm and the Marsh House and other places that made up her own intimately personal hell. The closets hiding the monsters that ruined – ended – her childhood, the people that made her realize before her age reached double digits that the monsters in her books weren't real and the monsters that look like people are much, much worse. She'd been a kid who listened to her parents and always said _please_ and _thank you_ and never did anything she was told not to do, aside from the time she dared to steal cookies from the jar in the kitchen.

And then she saw things.

Things that left her feeling "too old" for toys at nine and had her stomping her walkie talkie to pieces in a Savannah alleyway when she thought Amelia wasn't looking, despite how much she'd loved the flower stickers Ben had given her to put on it. She learned to shoot guns, to shoot walkers and eventually shoot people.

She'd seen and survived just as much as Amelia had. She would never stop being Amelia's responsibility but that didn't mean she couldn't treat her less like a burden and more like an equal.

Clem didn't seem to know what to make of it. Amelia guessed from the look on her face that she suspected her of pulling some kind of trick. It was something Clem wouldn't have put past her, a long time ago.

"I want to come with you. I can help."

"I know you can. But it's a narrow bridge, over a huge drop. It could be crawling with walkers. So just hold onto this…" She held out the handgun they shared, hoping Clem would notice it was the first time Amelia had given her one when she hadn't been forced to by lack of choice. A real weapon she could do a lot of damage with. Something that made her claw hammer look like as childish of a weapon as it was. "…and let me take this one, okay?"

Clementine took it immediately, and Amelia tried to calm her own nerves. _If she's old enough to walk through a horde, she's old enough to hold a gun._ More thoughts followed, each more unwelcome than the last.

 _If she's old enough to get locked in a meat freezer-_

 _If she's old enough to watch a man's head get crushed-_

 _If she's old enough to shoot a man in the back of the head-_

Amelia gritted her teeth until it stopped. She saw her sister consider the offer, turning the gun this way and that in her hands and checking the safety. She saw Clem look past her, over her shoulder at Luke, and though she knew it wasn't what she was thinking, told her, "I'll keep an eye on him. He'll be fine." She smiled for the first time in days, without even having to force it. "Okay?"

Amelia felt her nerves jitter back to life, protesting again the fact that she'd just put a loaded firearm in the hands of a child. An objection she'd get every time, no matter how many times she'd done it before. _Relax. You taught her everything Carley taught you. She'll be fine._

Clementine stuck out a hand, without words at first. Amelia looked down at her open palm and back up, waiting for the term she was about to demand. "I get to do the next thing."

"You get to do the next thing." Amelia agreed. Hand shake. Done deal. She couldn't go back on it now if she wanted to. "We're good?"

"We're good."

* * *

They walked out toward the horizon, approaching the bridge on a wide, downhill path. Their job had been to clear the way – that's what Amelia had prepared herself for – and so far there had been nothing and no one to clear. Which meant they were just scouting, essentially. Not far from the job she used to have, when she had another group. A group of people she tried daily not to think about.

It was a quiet walk. At first.

"How are the stitches, by the way?"

"Itchy."

"Yeah, I think that, uh…means they're workin', right? Reminds me of this time I messed up my ankle playin' soccer. Compound fracture. Needed a cast and a whole bunch of stitches. Itched like you wouldn't believe. And I couldn't get to it…you know, 'cause of the…cast…"

It wasn't the first walk the two of them had taken in total silence. For reasons Amelia couldn't guess, Luke seemed determined to make it their last.

It was something she'd noticed about him. He wasn't comfortable with silence. Even if he was only talking to himself, telling her things he already knew she wasn't going to respond to. He preferred it to silence. He didn't see the unanswered words as a waste, the way Amelia did. It was more like he was filling space. Filling it with something, anything because he couldn't stand it being empty.

Not like Nick, who seemed to prefer it that way. She liked that about him. She recognized the irony. A week prior, she'd been very sure she didn't like anything about him. Now she had a mental list of things, some of them shamelessly superficial and some which took time for her to learn. They ranged from the color of his eyes to the way he bit his nails when he was nervous to the amount of liquor he could put away in a single sitting to the way he laughed _incredibly_ loudly when Luke brought up a good story from when they were kids. It was a list she'd never share, not even with him; a decision that was reinforced with each quirk of his she added to it.

"You ever broken a bone?"

"No." She had. But _no_ was a shorter answer. If she'd said _yes_ she'd have had to explain. Tell him which bone and how she did it when the blunt truth was she didn't like talking as much as he did.

 _You could try._

"That's good to hear. It ain't a picnic. Hurts. A lot."

The silence settled over them again. Luke had used his last conversation point, she guessed, and needed time to come up with more. She could see him trying, running through a list in his head as they walked, and wondered when and if he'd ever give up on it. She wondered why he was doing it at all, wondered why he took their inability to have a conversation as a challenge on his part, not a shortcoming on hers.

"You know, Nick's never broken a bone, either. Don't know how he made it this long. Pretty much everyone I know had some kinda accident at some point."

He was trying, and even she could see it. It was what got her to take a breath and tell him, "I did. One time."

"Yeah?" he grinned. "How'd it happen?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, cringing even as she smiled. "It's…embarrassing."

"You're talkin' to someone who once knocked over a fish tank. Shattered the whole thing. Water's everywhere, I'm soaked head-to-toe..."

Amelia tried not to snort, and only half-succeeded. "Is that a joke? Please tell me that really happened."

Luke scratched the back of his head and looked the other way, but not until Amelia caught him blushing. "I…cut my hands all up on the glass tryin' to save the fish."

She believed him. Her story wasn't flattering, but his…

 _Should win some kind of award._

"It was a big tank, too." He went on. "Flooded Nick's living room, just about. Got a helluva yellin' at from his mom. And from him. Yelled at me all the way to the ER."

A light-speed reenactment of the whole ordeal flashed through Amelia's mind, making her imagine Nick's mom scolding him for hurting himself while Nick berated him for killing his fish until she couldn't help it anymore, and laughed.

"Look at that," Luke grinned. "I knew I'd get one out of you eventually. Most of my stories aren't that funny, but persistence counts."

Maybe it did. More than Amelia wanted to admit.

"All I'm sayin' is there's nothin' you could tell me that I would find more embarrasin' than that." He said, reminding Amelia that he wasn't the only one with a story to tell. "So go on. Tell me about it."

She already regretted bringing it up. But she spoke anyway, knowing she was talking to a person who could listen to embarrassing stories without making her feel embarrassed. In fact, the idea that he could even make her feel better about it wasn't much of a reach. "Clem had a treehouse in our backyard. I…fell out of it...trying to climb down. Landed on my wrist and broke it."

"See, now that's not that bad."

"I was eighteen years old." Arguably too old to be in the treehouse in the first place, let alone lack the coordination to safely get back to the ground.

"That's…a little embarrassing…" His smile was huge, and genuine, and very obviously trying to keep a laugh down below the surface. "…but it's okay. You're not the only one."

She was starting to agree. She wasn't. Not anymore.

The two went quiet as they approached the entrance of the bridge, not because they were struggling to find words to speak but because their conversation had ended, naturally and pleasantly. It was the first conversation Amelia had ended that way in a while; the first one in days that hadn't ended because they were attacked by the dead or because she walked away midsentence.

"Thanks for comin' with me. You…probably would'a preferred to do this alone, but…" _But that's not how your group does things,_ Amelia knew. "…the group wanted two people out here."

Amelia tried not to shrug; she didn't want to look as indifferent as she felt. "It's…no problem."

"I figured it was best to do what they wanted. They're still on edge after the whole…you know."

She didn't, really. She knew what he was talking about. But over the last week she'd come to realize this group was as good at avoiding the subject of William Carver as she was at avoiding people altogether. Over the last five days she hadn't learned a thing about him. And she'd asked.

"I need to ask you something."

He came to a stop on the railroad tracks just in front of the bridge, and the way he cleared his throat as he turned to face her told her he knew what it was, and wasn't looking forward to it.

"Yeah?"

"What does he want with you?" Amelia shook her head. He knew as well as she did that this had been coming for days. She only hoped for a straight answer this time. "Why would he still be following us after five days?"

"It's…"

"Please don't say it's complicated."

Their conversation had been nice, while it lasted. She hoped to go back to telling stories one day – _good_ stories, the kind that made her smile to think about and laugh for the first time in months – but she needed an answer first. Now that they were away from the group she thought she had a better chance of getting one.

"You can ask the others. I don't want to get in the middle of it."

She didn't know why she'd thought this would go somewhere. She never had a reason to think Luke would tell her something Nick wouldn't. Suddenly she was bitter, wondering why she was vilifying herself for keeping her secret from the group, when they had one of their own and seemed to agree unanimously that she and Clementine didn't need to know about it.

 _My secret isn't going to get anyone shot and drowned in a river._

 _Yet._

"You are in the middle of it. So am I. So is Clementine."

"It just…it ain't my place to talk about. Ask the others. If they…want to tell you, they will."

 _Others._ Amelia noticed the word only after he'd used it a second time. "Why won't you name a person? Who are you talking about?"

"Amelia, please. Just let this go."

"I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't." She meant it. She never wanted to resort to prying answers out of him, or anyone. She hoped he at least understood why. "You know why this is important." She took a guess, thinking it was better than asking again. "Is it Carlos?" She thought back to the way she'd heard Carver talk about him, though not by name. _Smug son of a bitch. But a smart man. I miss him._ The signs of a personal grudge were hard to miss, even when punctuated by a lie she could tell was horseshit from the other side of the kitchen wall.

Luke didn't answer. He seemed determined to avoid answering her, but had run out of vague terms to use. _Others. Not my place. It's complicated._ So Amelia guessed again, hoping his face would answer for him, even if he didn't speak to her. He crossed his arms and cut his eyes away from her, looking out over the water and maybe expecting the same thing.

"Is it Pete?"

Nothing from Luke.

" _And a pretty little pregnant lady."_

"Rebecca?"

Growls. Choking, wheezing, mangled voice boxes. Amelia's least favorite sound, a sound that always meant someone around her was about to die.

Luke reached for his machete. "Shit."

One dragged itself out from under the overturned train cart. Another came lumbering out from behind it. Luke turned around to see two more, limping onto the bridge behind them. They were coming from both sides of the bridge, closing in on the two of them in the center.

They were slow, and it gave Amelia time to think; plenty of time to notice she and Luke had nowhere to go. She drew her ice pick from its harness and backed herself up against the bridge's steel siding.

Yeah. _Shit_ was right.

"I'll get these over here," he said, stepping out onto the boards to walk between the train tracks.

Amelia turned to face the two coming from the other side. The corpses lumbering between them and where they needed to be. The walkers weren't a problem so much as the lack of space. She stepped carefully, constantly threatened by the steep drop into the water she'd make if she stepped too far to either side. It was the reason she hadn't wanted Clementine here, and was grateful she wasn't.

She raised her axe and-

Breaking wood, crashing boards, cracking and shattering and a scream and the heavy _thud_ of a body hitting something solid. She jumped so abruptly she almost dropped her weapon, sprinting to the gaping hole in the tracks expecting to see nothing, nothing but the whitewater remains of Luke's body hitting the water hundreds of feet below. Drowning because water was rock hard at a fall from this height and the impact knocked him unconscious. Already dead because he was too far down for her to get there soon enough to pull him out.

"No, no no no nononono…." She kneeled by the edge of the hole he'd broken in the flooring, leaning over further than she was comfortable with and knowing the walkers were still coming from both sides but ignoring them because _she had to see_.

And she saw.

He was caught on the support beams just beneath her, clinging to the metal pipes running across the tracks, barely holding himself up with his arms looped around one and his feet pressed up against the other. He almost didn't reach from one to the next, even at his height. At hers, she'd have fallen right through the middle.

 _Another reason he's lucky to be tall._ Those were the words in Amelia's head, as irrelevant and unhelpful as they were. She was slow to realize how grateful she felt. How lucky _she_ was that it hadn't happened again. That another person hadn't been pulled out from under her in the time it took to blink.

"You're not dead," was all that came out.

"I'm okay, I'm just…" he didn't look up, kicking at something with one foot while he struggled to keep his grip. Amelia had only just noticed the walker he'd been about to kill had fallen with him; it landed on another support beam and had skewered itself through the neck on a piece of broken metal. It kept it in place, Luke just out of its reach.

Good. That meant he had time.

"I can't reach you from here," Amelia sat up on her knees, watching the walkers as they closed the gap she'd put between herself and them. "I-I need a minute." Or five.

"You just watch your back. Don't-" the walker managed to grab the cuff of his pants, tangling its knotted fingers in his shoelace. He kicked it off, and almost slipped when he did. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine-"

He didn't sound as sure of himself as Amelia wanted him to. _Make it fast._

"Be there when I get back," she called down the hole as she stood up, getting a better grip on Hilda. "You better _be there when I get back_."

"Amelia, watch out!"

She swung for the kneecap, her favorite place to strike despite the fact that it always made a horrifying sound. The walker dropped to one knee, hobbled and still trying to limp toward her because as long as there was something living to eat, it had no intention of stopping. It had lost all human processes of thought, like awareness that Amelia was about to end its life, or that it was about to step into a hole in the floor _shit-_

 _Not there not there not thereNOTTHERENOTTHERE_

Amelia rushed for it as it slipped, coming up behind it, catching it by the back of its collar and dragging with all the upper body strength she had, which still didn't seem to be enough. It reached down for Luke, arms out and drooling and gnashing rotten teeth. It almost slipped out of her hands; its body weight was almost too much for her as it was, without it purposefully trying to crawl into the opening. She planted a foot against the edge and pushed back, trying desperately to pull the walker back with her.

She released its collar and looped her arms around it from behind, ignoring the smell harsh enough to make her eyes water and the disturbing feeling of a corpse's body moving against her own. She hurled it toward the edge of the bridge, suddenly struck with a lightning bolt of an idea when she realized she and Luke weren't the only ones in danger of falling to their deaths.

It started to pick itself up, and had just gotten up on its only working knee before Amelia sent it over the edge with a merciless, albeit cheap, kick to the center of its chest. It fell through the steel supports and though she wasn't watching, she heard it hit the water below.

Two left. She could do this, she told herself. _Pick it up. The longer you take, the longer it takes you to get back to…_

"Clementine?"

No, that wasn't her. It was another little girl in a baseball cap, it had to be because her sister wasn't about to drag herself into the clusterfuck going down on this bridge. Everything was going wrong and the only good thing about it had been that Clementine was far away from it, and not standing at the entrance to the bridge with her claw hammer gripped in both hands.

It wasn't her, it couldn't have been her because Amelia wouldn't know what she would do if it was. It was a nightmare that wouldn't go away when she blinked. There she was, short, purple, unmistakably her little sister…

And sprinting for her.

"Clementine, _no!_ "

She was fast. As fast as Amelia had always known she was, no longer the road runner but a bullet fired with bad intentions, speeding by the walker on the other side of the pit and shattering its left knee with her hammer as she passed.

 _What the hell is she doing?_

"Help Luke!" she called as she passed Amelia, jumping over weak floorboards and refusing to slow down, like she was trying to cross the bridge in record time. She waved her arms and whistled, getting the other walker's attention. It turned around and took a half-step in her direction before Amelia buried her ice pick in the back of its head without bothering to hobble it because _I don't fucking think so._

She pulled her weapon free, dragging it out of its skull and taking a thick trail of blood with it. She kicked the body aside and called again. "Clementine!" _Get back over here before I-_

The last walker snarled behind her, dragging itself by its hands because it couldn't move on its mangled legs. Amelia looked in the other direction, trying to keep eyes on her sister as she climbed around the overturned cart and-

Clementine jumped as more hands reached for her out of nowhere. Grey, rotting hands belonging to walkers that dragged themselves out from behind the cart, who hadn't been disturbed by Amelia yet but were drooling and gnashing at the living thing who'd just ran in front of them. Clem cried out, and Amelia knew that specific scream meant she was surprised and scared and it was _nothing_ compared to the knife twisting in her own stomach.

 _No, no, no this isn't happening, this can't happen…_

Amelia ran, keeping to the steel siding and the metal pathway underneath it; she resented how it slowed her down but couldn't fall, not now. Not until she got to Clementine.

No. She had to speed up. She was moving as fast as she could and it wasn't fast enough, _move or you're going to watch her die-_

She stepped out onto the wooden tracks, watching from twenty feet as two walkers that fucking came out of nowhere startled her sister enough to make her trip. They lumbered toward her with nails out and teeth bared while she pushed away from them on the ground, trying to get back up but not getting there fast enough. Clementine got to her feet, took one step onto the tracks, and lost a foot somewhere beneath the boards when they collapsed beneath her.

Amelia lost all of her thoughts in a drug-like haze of panic and rage. She lowered a shoulder as she ran down the length of the bridge toward one of the walkers and put the momentum into slamming it to the ground. The collision was abrupt and painful and rattled her brain inside her skull. She stopped just long enough to kick it in the head when it was down. She heard a crack and saw blood but didn't bother to check that it was dead.

She stared at the two figures across the tracks, keeping Hilda in her hand in a white-knuckled grip that was starting to hurt. The walker kept coming with no intention of stopping until it ripped her flesh from her body and Clem couldn't go anywhere and Amelia was too far, across the tracks that might cave underneath her and leave them both dead.

She got another idea, not a lightning bolt of inspiration but a near-dead light bulb, barely flickering to life in the depths of some laboratory that was long forgotten. It was something that was barely better than nothing and she raised Hilda above her head, not for a swing but for something that took better aim than she thought she had.

 _You can do this, you can do this,_ she was too panicked and adrenaline-shocked to tell that she was lying to herself. _Don't fuck it up, don't fuck it up, don't-_

She threw it when Clementine didn't have any time left. It happened fast. It barreled across the bridge, a pinwheel with a razor's edge seeking a home, which it found deep inside the walker's chest cavity as it buried itself there with a heavy and wet _thud._ The walker jolted with the impact, arms out and jaw unhinged and, having long lost its coordination and balance, stumbled one step, then two. Pushed by the force of being hit in the chest, it tripped over its own ankles, reeled backwards and tumbled over the edge.

She watched the flash of yellow disappear, first lost in a mud-brown spray of blood and then falling below the tracks, gone as quickly as the walker was.

 _Amelia didn't like how quiet the street was. The fog rolling in was like something out of a horror movie and the air was so silent that every one of her footsteps seemed to echo like she was in an empty gymnasium. Every footstep, every cracked knuckle, every shivering breath._

 _In hindsight, she'd decide it was why the stranger heard her coming, and ducked beneath the newsstand before she got there._

 _It happened fast. She'd barely reached for the wrench she'd taken from the train's maintenance panel before it was twisted out of her hands by a person she didn't even know was there yet. She reacted fast but not fast enough, taking a swing that her attacker caught before forcing her arm down, popping her one in the face, and tripping her up with a leg behind hers. Amelia hit the ground, the impact knocking the air out of her chest, and realized she'd been pinned in the time it took her to breathe again._

 _The stranger in the red jacket had sat on her, keeping her legs down and pinning her arms to the concrete with their hands. Amelia stared, and now that she stopped to look, noticed long eyelashes and a delicate, heart-shaped face underneath the white surgical mask. She realized when the stranger brandished a yellow ice pick from their back that the hand her wrist into the ground was too small to be male; they were almost the same size as her own._

 _It wasn't much. It said nothing about this girl's policy on murder or her mental stability or her taste in friends…all things that would determine whether Amelia was about to die here in the street._

 _But it made them the same, even in one small way. It wasn't enough to spare her life without question, she knew, but she hoped it would be enough to make this girl feel the same sense of kinship that she did, as reckless and sentimental as it was. Sharing her gender and likely her age might've meant their journeys had had more in common than they realized. Might've had them feeling empathy for each other that they'd been denied by so many other people who were nothing like them and therefore didn't understand them._

 _Amelia did. She saw the anger and mistrust in the girl's eyes and knew exactly where it came from._

 _She worried that the stranger disagreed, before she lowered the ice pick and sighed loudly in the manner of someone who knew she was about to do something she'd regret. Sitting back on Amelia's hips, she reached up to her own face and pulled the mask down._

" _Are you going to try to kill me if I let you up?"_

" _Wasn't planning on it."_

Amelia hurried to her sister, daring a single step onto the wooden tracks that immediately cracked the board beneath her foot.

"Careful!" Clementine warned, hands flat against the flooring as she tried to pull her leg from the hole she'd wedged it in. Amelia had run out of energy to care that she was eleven, that she hadn't done it in years – not since Clem gotten too old for it – and picked her up with two hands under her arms. She was heavier than Amelia remembered. But not difficult to hold up at arm's length. "Hey- ow-!"

Her foot came free as she was lifted from the ground, and Amelia had to force herself to put her back down. Even as she did, she wondered where the kid would take off next. _How will she get herself killed the next time you turn your back?_ She shook it away, equally because it terrified her deeply and because she didn't have time for this. Not yet. She picked up a piece of lead piping, three feet long and jagged at one of its broken ends.

"Stay here." She said, noticing a sharp edge in her tone she hadn't meant to put there…but didn't regret at the moment. "Stay off the tracks."

"Amelia-"

Amelia had already walked away, and called over her shoulder, "Don't. Move," unsure that Clem had even heard it. She held the pipe sharp-end up as she moved, gripping it so hard her hands were shaking. She couldn't lie to herself about what was in her heart, couldn't pretend she didn't feel what she felt, as much as she wanted to, and she knew it wasn't fear that was making her shake but rage. Rage brought on by loss and the grief it always brings with it. The only good thing about the virus that had torn the world apart, turned millions of human beings into monsters was the only thing at the forefront of her mind.

 _At least they don't feel pain._ Perfect for people like her, when they were hurting more than they could handle on their own so they needed to inflict it on something else. She knelt by the edge of the hole in the tracks, ignoring the persistent fear in the back of her mind reminding her he might not be there when she looked, and eyed the walker that still reached for him, pinned to the platform it had fallen on.

She turned the jagged end down and punched a hole right through the top of its head. Impaled its skull with all the force she could muster and no small amount of satisfaction. She pulled it back out with a loud suction noise and moved it slowly, bringing it over to Luke so he could grab it by the bloody end.

He did, and he laid it across the gap between the two supports to create another place to stand. He stepped up onto it and Amelia watched it roll beneath his feet, offering a hand that he took just before it slipped out from under him. It would have taken him with it if he hadn't already had one hand in hers and the other on the ledge.

She pulled, exhausted and inwardly apologizing because they both knew he was doing most of the work. In a few seconds he was up, and over. On his knees on the bridge again, doubled over and catching his breath. Amelia noticed him holding his ribs, and when he looked up, bleeding from his face. Gushing from a cut beneath his eye on one side of his face and above his eyebrow on the other. She tried not to stare. She already knew the fall hadn't been gentle. She realized she wasn't surprised, but troubled. Seeing him bleeding and in pain was a sight she didn't like. Hated, actually. He didn't deserve it and watching it put an uncomfortable twist in her chest.

 _Don't act an idiot. Say something friends say._

"Are you…okay?"

He was still breathing hard, but he spared enough to say, "I heard Clementine…" He leaned to look past Amelia, down the bridge in the direction she'd been running. "Where'd she go…? She alright?"

"She's fine." Amelia looked over her shoulder, seeing without surprise that Clementine was coming to join them, keeping to the metal walkway on the other side of the tracks.

"Good," Luke's smile was small and fleeting, but still there, leaving Amelia wondering…if this didn't do it then what the hell would it take to knock it out of him? She hoped she wouldn't ever see it.

"Amelia," Clementine approached them wringing her hands. Something Amelia hadn't seen her do in quite some time. Then again, she hadn't been this angry with her in quite some time. "I'm…sorry…about your ice pick…"

"Are you kidding?" she stood up, her words as pointed as she could make them. "It was a thing. An object. A fucking… _thing._ " She struggled for a new word and gave up. This wasn't the time to exercise her vocabulary, this was the time to rip her sister _a fucking new one_ for trying to make the worst of her nightmares come true. "You said you would wait with the group. You fucking shook on it!"

Luke stood up behind her, pressing his hands to his knees and taking a few seconds to do it. "Hey…" He paused until he was upright, and put a hand on her shoulder from behind which Amelia didn't hesitate to walk away from, taking a few steps toward her sister.

"That…was the most careless, most dangerous thing _I've ever_ seen you do. It was worse than every reckless thing you've ever done, and you know that is a lot. _A lot._ "

"I thought you needed help," Clementine started running a hand up and down her arm, a nervous tick Amelia guessed she'd picked up from Sarah. "I saw Luke fall through and didn't want you to fight all those walkers alone."

" _We didn't need your help._ In fact, you came charging in, and _you_ were the one who needed help. When are you going to get that you should _listen to me?_ "

Luke spoke up, a little louder this time. Raising his voice slightly because he didn't know Amelia well enough to know that volume didn't quiet her, but only challenged her to bite back. A game she was very, very good at by now. So far she had only been outdone by one person in the group, and it wasn't him.

" _Amelia._ Ease up, alright? No one got hurt-"

"She almost died in front of me because she didn't listen to me. Don't tell me to back off."

He sighed and looked out across the bridge, and she knew she was exhausting, knew she was draining him of what little energy he had after nearly falling to his death; she still made the conscious choice not to stop and did it without regret. Some battles were worth giving up. Some white flags needed to be waved for the better of the group or for some greater good that was more important than she was, but not this one. Nothing was more important than this, and if she had to scream and curse for days to get the point across to her sister, then she would. Clementine knew better than to put it past her.

"Let's just get off this bridge," Luke told her. "Alright? Y'all can talk this out when everyone's over safely."

She'd take that. She closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to slow her pulse and figure out whether it was racing due to adrenaline or unhinged fury. She decided on both. "Fine. Let's…"

Luke stepped around her, with a hand on her arm and something far too gentle to be called a push. He guided her out of his way, suddenly in a hurry to be in front of both of them. Clementine took a step forward and he put a hand out in front of her to keep her where she stood. Amelia looked over his shoulder to see a man coming from the other side of the bridge. He'd clearly seen them; it was hard not to say he was walking straight for them. He carried a hunting rifle with a scope that could easily pick them off at his distance.

Amelia wanted to grab her sister and dive behind the abandoned train cart. Take cover before anyone starts shooting. But she knew the sudden move might provoke him, and would leave Luke without cover and presumably, caught off-guard. There had to be a better way.

She pulled Clementine back and shouldered up to Luke, closing the gap between them and becoming the second half of the barrier between her and the stranger.

She wasn't sure who he was talking to when he muttered, "You see him?"

Clem answered for the both of them with a nod, peering through the small space between Amelia's left arm and Luke's right. "Yeah. I see him."

"Just…everybody play it cool." He stared straight ahead, moving only to wipe away blood on his face. Amelia got a strong feeling that _everybody_ meant her more than it did Clementine. "And you do the talking, Clem."

"No." Amelia objected before he finished making the suggestion.

Luke cut her a sideways glance, trying not to take his eyes off the man as he came toward them down the tracks. "He won't shoot a little girl."

"Plenty of people would." _Is he joking?_ Did he really think it was a good idea to give him a chance like that and hope he wouldn't take it?

"What should I say?" Clementine asked him, on board with his idea. Amelia expected nothing less from her these days.

She answered before he could. "Nothing. You should say nothing. Did you bring the gun?"

"Amelia, trust me on this," he put a hand over the gun at his hip, touching it but not about to draw. "I don't want to get in a fight. It's better if you and I stay quiet."

Ah. He'd been subtle. Tactful enough that Amelia didn't notice right away. She was used to seeing transparency from him, so accustomed to his honesty that she didn't notice when he meant something other than what he said. She took his words at face value until she stopped to read between the lines.

"'You and I?' Or just me?"

"We don't have time for this, alright? Not everyone'll just start shootin' without half a reason."

"And we have to be ready in case he does." She hissed back, out of patience for the both of them. "Clementine, _do you have the gun_?"

"I gave it to Carlos…"

Luke muttered a curse under his breath, still watching the man and lowering his voice, maybe worried he was close enough to hear them. He pulled his eyes away for a moment, just long enough to shoot Amelia a look over Clementine's head. "You ever think life might be easier if you try makin' friends before you go shootin' people?"

Amelia glared back, and bit the words out like they tasted as bitter as they sounded. "All the time." She knew he hadn't moved past what she did. She tried to take it as news, but she'd already known he wasn't going to forget about it that easily. She'd already known, and in a way it made it hurt more. She'd been lying to herself, trying to hold on to what she'd wanted to be true.

Clem looked back and forth between the two. Reached up for a handful of Amelia's shirt and gave it a tug. "Guys. Not now…"

And then they were out of time to argue. The plan they had was all they would get. The man stopped, far enough that he had to yell to be heard but more than close enough to have a clean shot at any one of them. No one moved or spoke, _tread carefully_ flashing in Amelia's mind like a dying neon sign.

"Well?" he called. Amelia waited for him to lift his gun, to prompt them for an answer when he didn't get one right away. She didn't know what to make of it when he didn't. "Who are you?"

Luke rested a hand over his own gun. Amelia looked down when he moved and noticed the blood drying on his knuckles. "Well, who's asking?"

"I am."

Rigid silence.

Luke cleared his throat quietly. A message meant for Clementine, not the man in front of them. "Clem? You want to…help me out, here?"

She hesitated, trying to look at the man through the small space she had between the two of them. "We're…a little lost."

"Lost, huh?" Amelia tried to listen for some trace of happiness in his voice. Some hint of gleeful cruelty in knowing that they were lost, and needed his help. She didn't hear any, as hard as she watched and listened as he came a few steps closer. "Huh."

 _Huh._ That was it?

Silence. Then: "You don't _look_ like assholes. _Are_ you assholes?"

Assholes. Not the word she used. But she knew what he meant. _Exactly_ what he meant. She knew he was asking if they were the kind of people to shoot him on sight. Kill him for his supplies or hurt him just because they can. And despite the difference in word choice and appearance and numbers, they had the same caution around strangers. She found herself thinking one thing above everything else.

 _He sounds like us._

"No offense or anything," he added quickly, reminding Amelia that the assholes he was talking about didn't care who they offended. Hurt, stole from, murdered. "But you know how it is out here. You run into a lot of assholes."

"Um…" Clementine looked between Luke and her sister again, maybe for a hint as to what to say. Neither of them told her anything. " _I'm_ not an asshole…"

Luke looked down at her, surprised at her choice of words but not too shocked to smile. "Are you callin' _me_ an asshole?"

The man was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed. It was a nice laugh. Friendly. There was a world of difference between it and the kind of laugh she was used to hearing. The kind that made her hair stand on end like a paranoid cat.

This one told her she could relax. Not let her guard down and share her life story. But relax.

He walked toward them again, closing the gap and standing close enough for them to hurt him as easily as he could hurt them. Amelia wondered if it was a gesture he'd made on purpose. A peace offering where there had never been a war. She decided it wasn't. He was more likely just a person trying to talk to other people like they were…people. Human beings instead of threats. Instead of assholes.

"You folks headed north like everyone else?" He had a nice face. Open, gentle. Nothing like the fake smiles and empty eyes of monsters pretending to be nice. Not at all like _look, we own a dairy farm a few miles up the road_ and while Amelia didn't trust him immediately she couldn't decide right away that he was dangerous.

She had to force herself not to stare; she hadn't seen a face like that on a stranger since she met her new group, but here he was. Taller than her, shorter than Luke. Zipped up in a hoodie and talking to them like a new neighbor introducing himself or a stranger asking for the time on a park bench. It made Amelia think back to a time when conversations with strangers rarely ended in gunfire or first-degree murder, and the more she thought about it the more she began to agree that she shouldn't do any of the talking here. She was too out of practice for this kind of talking.

"Everyone else?" Luke asked cautiously.

"I see at least one group a day move through here. You all look the same. It's like a great migration of the dazed and confused." He kept his gun down, pointing off the bridge and holding it without a hint of a threat.

"Do you know Carver?" Clementine's question was out before Amelia could stop her. She thought their business-

- _it's not your business if they won't tell you anything about it-_

-was better kept to themselves. That, and she doubted Carver could've beat them here. She hoped.

"You mean…George Washington Carver? The peanut guy?"

"What?" Clem frowned, reminding Amelia that her second-grade history class hadn't gotten around to 19th century inventors. That, and Clem didn't care for peanut butter. Loved peanuts. Hated peanut butter. This, Amelia could never forget. "He's a man."

"Nope. Now I want some peanut butter, though." He smiled, hoping she'd find the joke as funny as he did. The smile faded slowly as he realized Clem didn't get the punchline. "I gotta say, you guys look like shit. If you need food, I've got some canned stuff in that station back there." He gestured to it with a shrug, pointing the barrel of his rifle toward the shack.

"That's, uh…awful nice of you…" Luke crossed his arms, the wary look on his face almost making Amelia smile at the irony. There had finally come a day when he was more mistrustful of strangers than her. It was here sooner than Amelia expected. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I've got plenty."

"Well, alright then. Thank you."

Amelia thought about thanking him herself, and realized it would be the first and only thing she'd say in this exchange. She was trying – maybe too hard – not to come across as cagey and strange as she felt. She offered him half a smile, knowing it wasn't the same thing.

"Hey, no problem. Nice running into friendly faces out here. Like I said, I've got food and supplies back in the station. And if you…want…"

His face changed in a way that made Amelia's eyes go as wide as his. Something was happening, and she didn't need to know what to know it was going to be terrible. A storm, here to disrupt their smooth waters and capsize their rowboat. She followed the man's gaze and whirled to see what was behind her, afraid that one – if not all – of them were about to drown.

Nick came to a stop on the other side of the cart, having come sprinting down the tracks with a loaded rifle. Close enough to see but still at screaming distance. He took aim at the four of them – not the four of them, she realized, but it was all the same at this distance – and stared at them through the scope, looking as terrified as Amelia felt.

The man did the same. She didn't like his tone, didn't like anything about this any more than he did. Now he was accusing them of something, "What the fuck, man?" while Luke tried to explain away the misunderstanding before someone died.

"No, no, no, no, he's wi- he's with us!"

 _Nick! No!_ overlapped with _Put it down_ and _Don't shoot_ , a cocktail of white noise and too many voices, all of them panicked and afraid. Amelia could only hear beating wings and her own beating heart and grating metal screaming as it bent out of shape and gravel in a blender, all sounds trying to force her to shut down, to respond to sensory overload and crippling fear by trying not to exist until it was over. A ringing in her ears drowned out her thoughts, all the same because there was no time to think, _make a choice but not the wrong one or someone you love dies._

She had no faith in the people around her, didn't think for a second that the stand-off was going to end itself well. She expected bullets to fly and blood to spill and so she hit the floor with every intent of taking her sister down with her.

She landed on a pair of shoulder blades that didn't belong to Clementine, her arms – tucked down beneath her own torso – the only things between her body and that of someone else who got there first. They tumbled, panicked and adrenaline-shocked, hitting each other then the ground, one collision after another. Amelia landed on her back and rolled, pushing herself up on her forearms just enough to look – she didn't dare sit up higher than that.

There was too much to take in and all of it was happening at once. There was red and screaming, a collapse, a struggle. Choking and heavy footfalls, the echo of a gunshot that rang out for miles in every direction.

The man struggled toward them with a hand over his neck, trying and failing to cover an open wound that was spitting blood like a broken faucet. There was enough of him left to realize he'd been attacked and to know who did it – in the last few moments of life he had, he tried to raise his gun to shoot back, but it was heavy and slow to lift with one arm and Amelia knew before it happened that he was going to fall over before he got the chance.

She watched him become the second body she'd seen fall hundreds of feet and disappear into nothing.

The chaos was over as quickly as it had started.

Quiet. Complete silence.

The ringing in her ears was still there, faint and high-pitched. Her heartbeat pounded in her head. Muffled voices, non-words somewhere behind her, shouting but still too quiet to be heard. She rose to her feet slowly and kept her thoughts silent as she wandered to the edge, replaying it one, two, three times in her head, stepping in the blood puddled on the floor. Death was permanent – she'd learned that, if nothing else in her life – and she stared down at the water, already still again after swallowing his body whole. It happened and it was done and nothing she or anyone could do would -

Clementine quietly reached for Amelia's hand, and her mind fell silent.


	16. Downriver

Amelia wandered off the bridge, only vaguely aware of where she was going and even less aware of what was going on behind her. She listened to overlapping voices –some of them in her thoughts, some of them belonging to real people, though it was getting hard to tell the difference – trying to gauge what they were saying over her shoulder while Clementine pulled her along by the hand.

"Just keep walking," she said, for maybe the fourth time when Amelia stopped and looked back again. She swept her eyes over the group trailing behind her, saw Luke waving his arms and heard something about stay off the tracks while Nick said something about a gun – the dead man's gun or his own, she didn't know – before Clementine gave her arm another tug. "Amelia. Let's just…get off the bridge, okay? Please?"

Still looking back, Amelia nodded, thinking her sister was trying to step up. Imitating Luke, trying to help, to guide, to care for the group or at least for her. But she looked down and saw the sadness in her eyes, felt the way her sister's hands were shaking just a bit as she pulled on her arm again, and realized she wasn't the reason Clementine wanted to get to the solid ground on the other side.

She followed her there, where they stopped and waited for the others. Voices faded in and out, and she wasn't sure if it was because she chose not to pay attention or because she wouldn't have been able to focus if she tried.

Was she trying?

"Who the fuck…was that back there?"

 _-wait wait wait BANG-_

"…looked like he had a gun on you…"

"…drew on me! He was about to shoot…"

Clementine almost died, was almost eaten almost shot-

 _-wasn't, because someone got in the way-_

-and she managed to lose that stupid fucking ice pick, blew it after two years of keeping it safe-

It wasn't stupid.

"…not what it looked like to me…"

She didn't think it was stupid. She was very fond of it. Or had been. Much like the friend it had belonged to. And now it was gone.

Also like the friend it had belonged to.

"What did you see, Clem…?"

Before she could answer, words went flying, strikingly sudden and louder than the rest and demanding Amelia's full attention. " _Fuck you, Luke_. You've been on my case all week."

Luke didn't seem shocked. He wasn't nearly as surprised as Amelia was to hear it. It wasn't the words that made her blink but the person they were said to.

"And why do you think that is, Nick?"

"It wasn't…" Clementine realized she was about to be drowned out and spoke louder. "It wasn't all..." She trailed off when she realized her raised voice had worked too well, and that everyone, Amelia included, was now staring at her. "…it wasn't all Nick's fault."

Amelia doubted that. Clementine's fibbing face hadn't changed since she was five. She was about to ask her why she would say that if she didn't mean it – in front of everyone, which in hindsight would have been a poor choice – when Luke drew her attention away. Dragged it back into a dark, angry place with a single sentence.

"Either way, you could'a hit one of us!"

Yes. He could have.

"Yeah, but I didn't!"

But he could have. Amelia felt a familiar itch beneath her skin, an unpleasant buzzing in her fingertips, a hot rage kicking around inside her skull. He was careless and impulsive, and apathetic to the pain he could have caused – did cause – and she knew it was over, that she and Clementine and Luke were safe but she had a weakness for getting caught up in things that almost happened. Almost was too close. Almost scared her just as much and she wouldn't be able to breathe again until she blamed the person responsible.

She stormed past Luke, and maybe it was the way she moved or the look on her face, but he stepped out of the way before she had to push past him. She came to an abrupt stop in front of Nick, and wasn't unaware that while the others watched them with caution, Nick's face didn't change. He crossed his arms and stared her down. She was high-tempered and unpredictable enough to make the others nervous, but even when he didn't know what to expect, Nick knew enough not to be afraid.

She knew it was because he'd seen too much of her to be scared. Who she really was; a person who needed her sister so much that she cried like a child when they were separated, a person who liked to break things as much as he did, a person who dealt with her many unaddressed issues with either complete avoidance or a head-on, full frontal collision. No in-between.

He'd seen all of that and more. She knew he was afraid of a lot of things, just like she was. But she herself didn't make the list. So she fell back on the only thing she had to say.

"We're even now." She told him, trying to keep her voice from shaking. _I don't owe you anymore because if anyone else had done what you just did they'd have followed that man off the bridge._ She felt pushed, urged by the furious, vengeful part of her-

 _-the version of herself with dark eyes and blood under her nails, the Amelia who wanted to kill the Stranger with her hands, who put a second bullet in a bandit's shoulder for no other reason than to hurt him for coming after her sister-_

-who wanted to run at him knives-out, and reeled her in, grabbing her by the hair and restraining her because Nick was neither of those people.

"You saved my life, and now you and me are even."

Nick frowned at her. Blinked. Confused, of all things. When he spoke, the defensiveness had given way to something softer, something she didn't hear from him often, not even when they were alone. He shook his head slightly. Frustrated.

"We always were."

Over Nick's shoulder, she watched Luke's face change, lighten in surprise. More shocked to hear his friend had saved a life than he'd been when he'd cursed him out. He and Clementine talked over each other to ask the same question.

"You…you did that?"

"You did?"

He shook his head, still agitated, still impatient, still well aware he was in the crossfires of a group argument that had started because of him. "Yeah. Kind of. I don't know. Just forget about it."

Luke started, "Nick-"

" _I said forget about it._ "

"Alright, enough," Pete answered Nick's raised voice by raising his own, no doubt trying not to waste any more time than they already had. "Amelia, what did you see?"

 _What did you see?_ She saw a bullet fly and lodge itself in a man's neck. She saw his final moments defined by fear and contagious paranoia. She saw Luke knock Clementine to the ground and cover her so that if one of them was going to be shot it wouldn't be her and Amelia still didn't know what to do with that.

"You drew first." She muttered, quiet because she recalled a peaceful understanding that turned violent and fatal because of Nick and only because of Nick.

"What did you say?" Nick spoke in a voice she'd heard, not from him but plenty of times before, one full of shock and warning and _how dare you_ so she snapped back, just as quickly and just as loudly because that voice didn't scare her-

 _-anymore-_

-but it _certainly_ pissed her off.

" _I said you drew first._ "

"How can you say that-?"

"-It's what happened. I don't know what you expect me to-"

"-No, I mean how can _you_ say that?"

Pete cut in again, and this time Amelia was glad he did because she had nothing to say.

"I said, _enough._ Both of you calm down, _now._ Before you draw lurkers."

Amelia didn't want that. She didn't want Pete to raise his voice to them again either. But she weighed walkers against the look Nick was giving her and decided which one was worse.

Nick lowered his voice, but his words were no less sharp. "I came over there to save you!"

"You didn't save anyone. You killed someone." She lowered her voice, as aware as everyone around her that she was about to start seething. Quiet anger was something she knew Carlos to be adept at. She suspected Carver was decent at it, and tried not to think about how likely it was that it wasn't the only trait he and Carlos shared.

But she was crap at it. She'd only needed to try it a handful of times to know that. "He wasn't going to hurt us. He…" She paused, worried that she was about to overstep. About to state something she didn't have enough reason to think. Reason or not, it was how she felt. It was a notion that came into her head the moment he made that stupid joke about peanut butter and now it refused to leave.

"He wasn't a bad person."

Nick said what she'd expected from him. What she'd been saying to herself since she put the idea into words. "You spent thirty seconds with him."

She didn't answer. That was true. "You spent a day locked up with me but I still have to convince you I'm a decent guy?" She didn't answer again, and had to ask herself if it was because this was also true.

"I wanted to have your back, Nick, but how can I when you-"

" _Because I had yours_."

She didn't ask because she and everyone listening knew exactly what he was talking about. It had been at the backs of their minds since the moment Nick pulled the trigger, just like it had been in her own. None of them had brought it up. But not one of them could witness another murder without thinking about the last one they'd seen.

A silent ten-count. Amelia's ear was still ringing.

Then, from Nick: "Fuck this." He turned his back and went toward the trees, putting distance between himself and the others the way Amelia had done many times in her life.

The silence didn't break, and Amelia wondered if she should leave, too.

Carlos spoke before she could answer that for herself. Arms crossed and looking between her and Luke, he said, "Do either of you think he was with Carver?" Amelia looked to Luke for an answer, not sure why Carlos asked her in the first place. She'd met the man once and it was more than enough.

"I don't know." He answered, still staring after Nick, who he knew as well as everyone else wasn't about to come back on his own. He looked back to the group, and reconsidered. "No. I don't think so. But he fell over."

"He fell off the…" Alvin's voice faded in her ears; she looked down and caught sight of blood on her shoes that hadn't been there before. The laces were stained red and for a solid minute all she heard were choking noises and the broken faucet and red mist and the last words Del ever spoke.

She saw movement in the corner of her eye, and looked back to see Luke had already turned and started to walk away. Rebecca and Alvin did the same in another direction, the two of them helping Pete along with them; Sarah followed them closely.

"Where is he going?" Amelia stared after Luke, and muttered just loud enough for Clementine to hear. Only comfortable asking her question to the one person who wouldn't make any judgments or assumptions about her for it.

"To talk to Carlos. Remember?"

"No."

"I'm…going to go check on Rebecca." A short silence. Clem seemed to be waiting for something. "Why don't you come with me?"

She shook her head, looking over her shoulder to the station. He'd said he had food in there.

"Stay out of trouble." She muttered again, over her shoulder as she went for the door.

She found when she was up close that it had been locked. Dead-bolted from the outside with a key she'd never get her hands on if it was where she thought it was. She ran her fingertips over the wooden frame, trailed them onto the glass, leaving pale streaks as they went.

She gave the doorknob the obligatory single try. It didn't budge.

She tugged at one of her sleeves, pulling the cuff down over her hand, trapping it in a closed fist and padding the fabric around her knuckles. Clementine spoke up from behind her, cautious as always. Even more so, today.

"Step back." She said, not surprised she'd been followed.

"Amelia, what are you…?"

"Step back, please."

Clementine listened-

 _-for once-_

-and stepped away from the door. A quick jab of a punch, a light pop and cracked glass was falling down onto Amelia's bloody laces. She pushed her fist through a second time, clearing out the shards that hadn't fallen out of the frame until she had a hole more than large enough to fit her hand through. She carefully, slowly snaked her arm into the opening she'd made, sticking it in up to the elbow and searching for the deadbolt on the other side.

If the sound of a man moving with a limp and a walking stick hadn't been enough, Amelia could've guessed who'd joined them by the choice of his first words alone.

"Well, now you're just bein' stupid."

"Sticks and stones, Pete," Amelia muttered without humor, throwing him a glance over her shoulder before looking back to the door. She inched her fingers closer to the doorknob, keeping a close eye on the shrinking distance between the glass and the skin of her inner arm.

She heard his voice soften – the change was barely there, but he sounded a little lighter, a little more friendly – something she only ever heard him do when talking to Clementine or Sarah. "How're you holdin' up, Clementine?"

"Alright, I think," she phrased it like a question. She seemed hesitant to ask. "…how are you feeling?"

"Better than yesterday, that's for damn sure."

"That's…good," Clementine seemed unsure of whether or not to smile. She managed to give Pete a half-grin before Amelia got his attention – unintentionally – with a hard flinch and short gasp. Then a swear, exhaled slowly. Regretting what she'd done and wishing she'd kept quiet.

There was no concern in his voice. Only frustration and exhaustion because it wasn't a question when he already knew the answer. "Did you cut yourself?"

She didn't move. Left her arm elbow-deep on the other side of the door and slid a sideways glance to him over her shoulder. "No."

"Show it to me."

Again More defensive. Not even a little sorry for it. "No."

"Amelia." That got a different tone out of him. The Uncle-Pete tone. The mean-old-bastard tone. Playing a role he already expected her to hate him for because he'd been doing it for years, parenting a kid who was so much like her that she wondered if it had anything to do with why he was now doing the same to her.

She reached an inch further, annoyed with herself even more since she'd been this close to the lock when she screwed up, and found cold metal beneath her fingers. She turned it, throwing the deadbolt out of the doorframe and carefully, slowly, pulling her arm out of the opening she'd made in the glass. The blood was visible once her hand was out, dripping from a short, thin slice in the middle of her forearm.

She watched him prop her arm up with a hand under her elbow, and scrutinize her cut until he came to the same conclusion she did. It was shallow, and wasn't bleeding much.

"Not a stitcher. You're lucky."

She took her arm back and tugged her sleeve down to the wrist. Injected false whimsy into her voice but even she heard her own attempt at sarcasm fall flat. It came out half-assed, which wasn't inconsistent with the effort she put into it.

"Luckiest girl in the whole world."

"If you're still alive at this point you might just be."

Pete wasn't one to make idle conversation. She guessed he hadn't been one to waste words before she'd met him, and knew he certainly wasn't now.

It wasn't hard to guess that he had a reason for coming over here. It was even easier to guess what it was. Amelia crossed her arms, reluctant to bring up the subject. She lowered her voice despite knowing no one other than Clementine could hear them talking. "What are you going to do about Nick?"

"That…I don't know yet. This isn't the first time he's been like this. He gets…into a bad place sometimes."

A quip from somewhere in Amelia's head, quick and bitter and nasty but she couldn't help thinking it all the same. _I know all about that._

"Kid does the opposite of everything I say, and he doesn't want to hear any more from Luke. If it comes from you, he might get his shit together. Maybe he'll start actin' like an adult."

Maybe. All that came to mind at the moment was the time she'd indulged him in acting like children. Being obnoxious and destructive to deal with feelings they were too immature to resolve with words, taking advantage of the fact that no one was around to judge them or stop them.

And what had come after was no less irresponsible.

"He doesn't want to talk to me."

"He's mad now. Later he won't be. Are you gonna calm down?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah. Puttin' your fist through a window 'cause you're 'fine.' Not even careful enough not to slice your arm open."

She agreed. It was careless. Stupid of her to try one thing while distracted by another. She didn't regret breaking into the station. Clementine's growling stomach and the hollowness in Pete's cheeks were more than enough to remind her the entire group was running on fumes. If there was a chance of finding food in the station, she had to see. Wouldn't move on until she did.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"That ain't on you to worry about."

She hadn't expected a straight answer. But she knew why she asked.

She pushed the door open with a loud, slow creak. More broken glass clattered to the floor. Pete seemed to be hesitating, for some reason. Something else she'd never known him to do.

"Are you coming in?"

He shook his head, radiating disappointment and exhaustion as he did. "I'm gonna go talk to him. You gonna stay out of trouble?"

"Sure."

He turned away and left in Nick's direction. Amelia thought she heard the word "smartass" under his breath.

* * *

The inside of the station smelled as musty as the outside looked. It was large enough to fit the entire group for the night and small enough that they would probably get aggravated by the lack of personal space and kill each other.

It was an exaggeration, she admitted to herself. But not by much.

Clementine wandered in behind her, treading carefully over the broken glass. It crunched quietly beneath her shoes as she came in; taking in the entirety of the station didn't take long.

A trunk on the floor. A military cot and a sleeping bag. A fold-up table and a radio.

"Hm," Clementine mumbled.

Amelia agreed.

"There's got to be something left," Clem said, walking to the trunk in the corner. She came to a pile of industrial-sized tin cans – all of them empty – and gave the closest one a light kick. It made a hollow sound and rolled into the wall.

Amelia took a seat on the cot. She didn't know why she'd stopped at sitting and laid herself out, feet by the pillow, head at the foot of the bed, and staring up at the cracked, cobwebbed ceiling.

There probably wasn't any food here. She hadn't been expecting much. She fought off the disappointment by reminding herself it never paid to take strangers at their word.

She tried not to go back to counting holes in the ceiling.

Nick drew first. She saw it the first time and she saw it replayed over and over in her head. He didn't have to shoot and he did it anyway. She had to shoot. Something bad would have happened if she hadn't.

 _What's the real difference between you and Nick?_ Ominous words from the part of her brain that still acted as a voice of reason. That, or they came from the other Amelia. The one with knives tucked into her boots and cold hands covered in gunshot residue. The two were hard to tell apart some days.

Her body count was higher. Probably. That was about all she could think of.

She'd found someone who – in his own words, not hers – wanted to have her back, someone who argued for her when everyone else argued against her – even Luke – and she'd turned around and slapped him in the face for it. Maybe with good reason, maybe not.

"Amelia…" Clementine said.

She didn't like that. That was her nervous voice. Just a notch quieter than she usually spoke and laced with hesitation.

"Hm?" she answered, one hand behind her head. She didn't sit up or turn around to look. She had a feeling she knew what this was about, and if she was right the conversation wouldn't last long.

"Amelia, look," Suddenly Clementine was standing over her, a large can of peaches in one hand and…a hunting knife in the other that was just as large.

Amelia sat up on her elbows, eyes wide and unsure if it was because of the knife or the food. "Where did that come from?"

Clementine stood there, holding both in her hands like she was comparing their weights because she didn't know which one Amelia meant.

She decided on the knife. "It was on the shelf over there." She set the can on the floor, and when she stood back up, took the knife out of its sheath and looked it over. "I thought you'd…want to keep it?"

Amelia held a hand out, and Clem set the weapon gently in her upturned palm. Amelia knew she was humoring her; hopefully, Clementine didn't. She saw the gesture her sister was making and didn't want to reject it out of hand. But she already knew it was no replacement for the one she lost. There was only one Hilda.

Amelia turned it over in her hand. It was heavy. The sheath was nice. The leather was dark and thick and looked expensive. She couldn't tell if it was real. Someone with more of an interest in weapons and hunting-

-Nick, maybe Pete-

-probably could have told her. It was engraved. WM. Could have been the man's initials. Could've been the initials of whoever he stole it from.

 _You know he didn't steal it. Thieves don't offer to share and ask for nothing in return._

"It's nice, Clem. But no thanks." Amelia handed it back to her before she realized she didn't even pull the blade out to look at it. She was trying to look like she at least considered it. Then again Clementine was too smart for charades like that anyway. She was getting too old not to see right through them.

"Are you sure?" she asked carefully. "I'm…carrying the gun now, so you should at least have something…" She gripped the hunting knife with both hands, holding it close to her chest. Amelia watched the second thoughts run across her face. "You should take the gun back, then."

Amelia saw the apology hanging in the air, and tried to make it easier.

"I meant what I said, Clem. It was just a thing."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to…help. For once."

Amelia didn't answer. She'd already said everything she had to say back on the bridge. Whether Clem would listen to her next time…that was up to her.

After a beat, Clem looked down at the knife and decided, "I want to keep it."

She gave Amelia a look that said the statement had been more of a question.

"You don't need me to tell you. Are you keeping it or not?"

"…yes." She slipped it back into the sheath and gripped it with two hands, holding it close to her chest. Amelia wasn't about to argue, not even when she saw the second thoughts run across her sister's face. "You don't think it's dangerous?"

"Look at it. Of course it's dangerous."

"…I'm keeping it."

"Alright."

Clementine spun around when the door opened behind them - the telltale broken glass announced that someone was coming into the room.

"Man, and I thought we had it bad. Look at this dump." He spotted the can in Clem's hands as he came in; Amelia saw his eyes widen exactly the way hers had when she saw it. "Guess he did have food. Man, fuck Nick."

Clementine slid a cautious look to Amelia; she wasn't surprised that her sister was able to predict the dirty look Amelia was going to pull before she did it. It didn't stop her from doing it, and glaring at Alvin like she was trying to light him on fire with her thoughts.

"Um," Clementine started cautiously. "I don't think it was really Nick's fault…" There it was again. The fibbing face. Alvin might not have known any better but Amelia did. "He was just trying to help us,"

"Nick's lost a lot of his people, that's for sure. But that doesn't give him any excuse to start shootin' up strangers."

Amelia laid back on her elbows, and considered going back to staring at the ceiling. The alternating sympathy and lack thereof was giving her whiplash.

"Alvin…" Clementine said quietly, dragging out the _n_ in his name and darting her eyes to Amelia in a way she thought her sister couldn't see.

"What?" Alvin threw his hands up in a shrug. "I know he's having a hard time and all. But that was some dangerous shit he pulled back there. I know what he thought he was doing, but someone died. That's just straight up murder in my book."

Clementine didn't bother trying to hide it anymore. She looked back, directly at Amelia, probably because she knew as well as her sister did what was going on.

Alvin was the last to realize it. "Oh…" After a short, awkward pause: "Look, Amelia, I didn't mean to take any shots at you, I just…"

He trailed off and she sat up on the cot, crossing her legs and scratching lightly at the vinyl sleeping bag with her fingernails to keep busy. "It's fine. I'd rather know what you think."

"It's a shame. Nick was a good guy. He's still a good guy. He's just losin' it."

Amelia wondered for a second if Alvin thought she was losing it. Then she remembered he wouldn't know. He'd never seen her with her shit together for comparison.

She was expecting him to leave. He could've ended their chat there and she wouldn't have held anything against him. But to his credit, he spoke up again anyway.

"Look, I don't think either of you are dangerous people. I think you made some decisions some of us think was the wrong call."

That was true enough. One simple truth in a clusterfuck of a situation where no one seemed able to give or get a straight answer. "Don't ask me what I would've done in your shoes because honestly? I got no idea. But if every one of us is safe at the end of the day…it couldn't have been all wrong. I don't think we have it in us to bury another person."

It was a small gesture. One flicker of a silver lining in the middle of a shit storm she was at least half responsible for. But she would take it.

"Hey, girls," he seemed to be hesitating again. Amelia scratched at the vinyl, waited for him to choose his words. Time was one thing she had more than enough of. "There's not a lot of food here, and Rebecca…she's eating for two. You think we can keep this just between us?"

Amelia looked up from the sleeping bag, surprised by what he was asking only until she thought about it for a moment. He was right. There wasn't enough there for everyone. She considered Rebecca's baby more important than the adults in the group, and would have been shocked if anyone in the group disagreed. Splitting their only can of peaches between Rebecca, Clementine, and Sarah was the only logical choice. Hopefully, they would find more once they reached the lodge.

"Yeah. Take it." Amelia answered. Clementine gripped the can and held it back over her shoulder, despite the fact that Alvin hadn't reached for it.

"Amelia." She said.

"Yes?"

"That's not…we can't just do that." She looked between Alvin and her sister. "The whole group should decide."

"Clem, you know how important it is that the baby doesn't starve." Amelia lowered herself back onto the cot, kicking her feet out and folding her arms behind her head. "Just give him the can."

"No."

Amelia sat back up. Quickly. "Clem."

"You can't hide things from people in your group. Remember?"

Amelia chose to believe she was talking about the peaches.

"We're out of food. She needs to eat more than the rest of us do."

"Then we can trust the group to do the right thing." She hesitated for just a second – just briefly enough to make Amelia think she was rethinking whether to bring it up. "I know Luke…doesn't always listen to you. But you should listen to him. You can't just make all the decisions anymore."

When Amelia didn't answer, Alvin scratched the back of his head. Nodded in understanding. "You're right, Clementine. I shouldn't have asked…it's just hard right now." He sighed.

"I know." Clem answered, then carefully suggested, "We should take this out there." The look she gave Alvin meant he should be there when she showed it to the group. He understood, and the way he rubbed the back of his head made Amelia wonder if he was going to come clean about his idea to keep the food for Rebecca. She didn't know, and would've been lying to say she cared. In this group, keeping secrets was common, normal. Not at all like her old group, where dirty laundry and personal grudges were worn openly and argued over regularly. Where a group with one leader too many was caught in the middle of a screaming match every other day until tensions came to a head and-

 _"-we deal with this now, then-"_

This group's approach was quieter. More passive but no less aggressive. Secrets and non-answers and half-truths. It that area, morally grey as it was, she fit right in.

She watched the door close behind Alvin and her sister. She'd expected to be alone and it took her a moment to realize she wasn't. He stepped aside to let Clementine pass, then caught the door just before it closed and let himself in. He lingered by the door.

"I just want to talk. Clem's worried about you."

Amelia nodded toward the window, where she could see Carlos near the tree line. "What did you talk about?" It wasn't exactly the question she meant to ask, and she could tell Luke knew that. Everyone knew who the topic of that conversation had been.

"Carlos is…worried about Nick. So am I. He's been through a lot. Seen some stuff that'd make anyone…lose it a little."

"Are you trying to convince me or you?"

He didn't answer, and for a brief second, she worried she'd hurt him. Bluntness was her language of choice – no need to waste time when the truth was what it was – but it wasn't his. She told herself not to forget that again.

"I don't know."

After a few moments of watching the widow for something he didn't see, he sighed and crossed the room, his slow steps and low shoulders making it look like he was under a weight he couldn't shake. Maybe he was – just not a physical one. He sat down in the open space next to her on the cot; he knew her too well by now to wait for an invitation he was never going to get.

He laced his fingers together and held them in his lap. Stared at the door while he cracked his knuckles, tapped his foot, fidgeted in his spot. Of the two of them, she wasn't the one who couldn't stand silence. She waited and listened but didn't speak.

Which was strange, given that she had something to say to him.

"Look, I'm not used to this. I've never…had a problem talkin' to people, and…"

 _And then you met me._

"And?"

"And…to be honest, you do a real good job of shuttin' everyone out."

The honesty surprised her. She wasn't used to hearing him say things – even true things – so undisguised by tact and kindness. He wasn't one to get straight to the point. Or, at least he hadn't been before. But people changed.

She didn't understand why, but she answered his honesty with a truth of her own. "It's not on purpose."

"I know it's not. I knew plenty'a people who acted like they wanted to be alone. But I don't think any one of them really wanted that. Nobody does."

If she was on this list of his, then no. He wasn't wrong.

"I don't understand what you're getting at." She said quietly, falling back on the only tactful way to ask for an answer she was failing to find on her own.

"I said somethin' dumb back there on the bridge. What I said about you and makin' friends…" he trailed off, and Amelia wasn't in a hurry for him to pick back up. She was starting to wonder how fast she could get to the door from here, and at the same time, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that having someone sit next to her was nice. It didn't happen much anymore; sometimes that was by her own doing, sometimes not. Luke seemed to give up on what he'd been about to say. "Look, you're with us now, and… I'm your friend, alright? So's Nick, even if he doesn't act like it."

Amelia nodded. _Okay_ seemed too simplistic and she wasn't sure whether _thank you_ was in order. It probably was, but that didn't make it any easier to say. She felt a sardonic laugh coming up – a quiet one, but bitter and confused and exhausted all the same.

"Does he know that?"

Luke almost laughed. Almost. Before he looked back to the window and seemed to go somewhere else.

"I'm not tryin' to put him through the wringer. He thinks I am, but I just want to help him."

"I can see that. And if I can, so can he. He just doesn't want the help right now."

"He never does."

Seconds ticked by, each one reminding Amelia that she had something to admit-

- _two things-_

Every second Luke sat there was another chance for her to do it, and she could only waste so many.

She didn't see anything wrong with starting simple. "Just…I did it too."

This got him to look at her. Maybe because, like him, direct, naked honesty wasn't her strong suit and it was strange to hear it from her.

"You don't know what it's like unless it's you, with five seconds to make the decision and other people's lives at stake if you do the wrong thing." She rode the momentum of talking without thinking, sure something was about to go wrong but unsure whether it would be by stopping or by saying too much. "And I hope you never do but…you just don't know how…"

She stopped herself, hearing her words trip over each other and taking a breath so she wouldn't turn into an inarticulate mess. "It's just easy to fuck up, Luke."

Finally, he broke their eye contact and rubbed his palms over his knees. "I know it is." He looked out to the window again. "Maybe you don't believe that, but I do. I know how you feel."

"You don't have to decide he was right. Just…whatever you decide about him, make sure you decide the same about me."

There. Fair was fair. People could say a lot about her, this group included. But no one could say she'd been a hypocrite. Today.

"I'm on your side, Amelia. Just like I'm on his."

She almost smiled. "Thanks." She meant it. She thought back to Clementine's insistence that _he's really nice and he's easy to talk to and you can tell him he won't freak out_. For a split second she let the bitter, sarcastic part of her mind wander into that conversation-

 _By the way, look at this scar on my ribcage, you wouldn't believe how I got it-_

Nope. Not today. Not tomorrow. Sorry, Clem.

Creaking door, glass scattering across hardwood. Nick stood in the doorway, very clear without saying a word that he wasn't about to come in.

"Lurkers are coming over the bridge. We have to go."

Both were on their feet before he finished.

* * *

The lodge was as ominous as it was empty and large. The fact that the group would have plenty of room for the night was dampened by the creeping knowledge that it left plenty of places for the dead to hide inside. It was just quiet enough to make Amelia hesitant to go inside; it was just dark enough outside that she knew she'd be doing it anyway.

The sun had gone down an hour ago. They didn't have any more time to burn. The freezing temperatures were one problem. The walkers were another.

Amelia approached the lodge's front porch just behind Rebecca. Her pace was slow – aggravatingly so – but Amelia lingered behind her, convinced by the way she was dragging her feet and breathing that she was about to need help.

"Well?" Rebecca breathed. "What are we waiting for?"

Carlos waited by the porch that stretched across the front of the building, keeping his voice low on the off chance that someone was inside, and listening. "We need to be careful."

"We've been on the road for five days. My back is done being careful."

Amelia didn't disagree. Being this close to shelter somehow made it harder to stay on her feet. She was sure there was somewhere to lay down inside. A real bed with real blankets. She would kill someone for a pillow and a straight six hours of sleep-

-poor choice of words-

She eyed the lodge's boarded windows, and the path that cut behind the building and around the back. The list of people Carlos could've asked to check the perimeter consisted of three names when she left out Pete, the pregnant couple, and the children present. If he picked one or two people to do it, she was more likely than not to be one of them. She figured she'd start early – the sooner they got inside, the better – so she turned around and almost walked straight into the body standing just behind her.

Nick looked surprised. So did she.

"Hey."

She phrased it like a question without meaning to. "Hey?"

"Why don't, uh," he threw a look over his shoulder, where Carlos was telling Sarah to stay put and not touch anything and Pete had stopped to sit on the porch bench. "Why don't you and me-" he nodded toward the corner of the building, the one they'd need to take to get to the back doors. "-head around back? Make sure it's safe before we start breakin' in."

Amelia crossed her arms, and looked toward the back of the lodge. She looked back to Nick, looked him up and down and tried to figure out what had changed since the last time they spoke.

He smirked at her. He scratched the back of his head like he was already ashamed of the joke he was about to tell – and flashed a grin that said he couldn't resist doing it anyway. "Heard you're the expert on that."

She smiled and shook her head. Actually laughed, quietly. "Fuck off."

"It doesn't need stitches, does it? That's like…what, the seventh time?"

She stuck and arm out and hit him in the shoulder with a lazy push. She didn't know why he was speaking to her again. It certainly wasn't because of any effort on her part. She'd kept a distance from him for the entire hike up the mountain. His sudden change of heart confused her, but she'd take it all the same.

"It doesn't…" He paused. His voice lowered and his smile disappeared. "…actually need stitches, right?"

Amelia's smile fell just like his did. Their joke was over. This was a question that needed an answer. She shook her head, arms crossed. The _no_ was implied.

He nodded. "Good." He waited for a short pause. He seemed to be expecting Amelia to say something but wasn't surprised when she said nothing. "So?"

She was about to nod, to smile, to circle the building with him and maybe even take his hand while they walked to see if he'd object but something caught her attention. She caught a flash of purple in the far corner of her eye and looked over her shoulder to see her sister halfway up a twenty-foot ladder. She didn't know why Clementine was climbing the ski lift, and why she didn't know anything about it until now, but she spotted Luke standing at the base of the ladder and knew who to ask.

"You go ahead." She said to Nick. "There's something I have to do."

"Right now?"

She was already on her way down the hill, calling over her shoulder, "I'll catch up later."

She worried – maybe hoped – for a moment that he'd follow her. He didn't, and she couldn't decide if she was disappointed.

She didn't bother to quiet her footsteps – she wanted to be heard if it would save her from starting the conversation herself – as she came up behind Luke, slowing to a stop as the hill dipped into a sharp incline toward the base of the lift. If she came up any faster she might've slipped and gone tumbling down a – she leaned forward to look – fifty-foot drop, maybe, of steep mountainside they'd just spent the evening climbing on the hiking trail.

"Amelia, hey," Luke caught her attention as she stood peering at the rocks and tree trunks below. She crossed her arms, leaned against the lift tower, and stared at him. No words.

After a beat he cleared his throat. "I thought it'd be a good idea to check out the forest behind us."

Amelia tilted her head. Threw a look up to Clementine, who was almost to the top. Far too late for her sister to stop her. Still no words. She didn't claim to know anyone in this group well but thought Luke at least knew her well enough to guess why she was here.

Luke seemed to get the message. "Alright, I know what you're thinking,"

"Why?" Amelia asked, unconcerned with how unfriendly she sounded.

"She, uh, seemed pretty set on doin' it…said you had a deal?"

"Which she broke." Amelia wasn't sure whether Clem could hear them from where she was. She thought she should repeat herself, louder.

"Figured that's, uh…why she got up there so fast."

It was a joke. Amelia did not laugh.

"I mean, she's doin' great," Luke grinned, reminding Amelia that he didn't know how not to be himself. He didn't know how not to shower optimism on a person like her even when it was like throwing a glass of water on a kitchen fire. Luke realized it wasn't getting him anywhere, too. Probably knew that from the beginning. So he switched to the other quality Amelia had never quite learned how to use, one he had in spades: sincerity.

He sighed. Took on a calm voice she'd heard from him at least a dozen times by now. One she wouldn't admit at gunpoint that she was starting to like.

Luke gestured up toward her sister, and Amelia could see him keeping an eye on her even as they spoke. "I know you worry about her. But come on, I wouldn't let her do anything she could get hurt doin'."

Amelia knew that, even before he said it. She may have needed to be reminded, but she knew.

Clementine's voice chimed away from the top of the lift. "Made it!"

She still wasn't one for optimism, but she knew her situation could always be worse. Always. They were hungry. Out of supplies. On the run from a group that wasn't above murder. The only thing worse than being out here with Luke would have been being out here without him. She tried to imagine some stranger in his place. Someone who might have left Clementine out in the forest. Someone who'd let her get shot without trying to take the bullet for her. Amelia didn't even need one hand to count the number of people she could trust to do that.

There were plenty of people in the world who wouldn't do anything like that for Clementine. Worse than that, there were people who would put themselves first. Throw her to the wolves if it meant they themselves got to live.

 _Amelia approached Ben, slowly and quietly, when he had his back turned in the backyard of the Savannah house. He had his hands cupped over his eyes, peering into the window while Kenny and the others looked for a way to break in. There wasn't much time left before the neighborhood would become completely overrun and the dead would start pouring in over the picket fence._

 _Amelia was unconcerned with that threat. She considered the threat posed by her coward of a group member to be much more dangerous._

 _Her hands were starting to shake._

 _"Ben."_

 _He glanced over his shoulder but otherwise ignored her. "I'm-I'm…I can't talk right now, Amelia…"_

 _She reached into her own heart, past the boiling rage, and sickening sense of betrayal and overwhelming disgust, through the briar bush rapidly filling space in her ribcage and found the patience to try again. One time. If he wouldn't listen to her then, she would give him everything he had coming._

 _"Last chance, Ben."_

 _He hesitated. They waited in silence until he said, "I can't-"_

 _Amelia's hand was already on the back of his head, having grabbed a fistful of his hair to launch his forehead forward into the window. The glass cracked, a bright spot of blood staining the dead center of a spider web fracture._

 _He yelped, a pitiful sound she'd heard from him before. "What are you-?" She cut him off, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to turn around. She backed him against the house with a merciless forearm laid across his throat, leaning into it and trying, trying with every shred of decency she had left not to intentionally crush his windpipe._

 _"If you ever do that again…" Her voice was low. There was no yelling needed to make her point._

 _"Amelia!" Christa's voice pulled her back, but not by much. "Calm down. What the hell do you think you're doing?"_

 _Amelia didn't answer her. Christa didn't understand. Christa was sharp and capable and right about nearly everything else – but she was wrong about this. She didn't know because she hadn't seen._

 _Amelia did. Unfortunately for Ben._

 _Christa didn't stop. She took a step forward and gave Amelia another warning, which she answered by putting a hand out to stop her._

 _"Amelia," she said again, not asking, but telling. "Put him down, now."_

 _"Not yet."_

 _Kenny hadn't moved from where he stood. Kenny, who was still reeling from the same kind of loss that had almost blindsided her, didn't have anything to say. He seemed to be trusting her judgment – a mistake Ben was about to pay for._

 _He grabbed at her wrists, gripping them tightly while she had him pinned to the wall. Blood dripped in a crooked line from his forehead down into his eyebrow. Amelia watched him look over her face with fear in his eyes and felt no remorse for what she was doing. None. He was lucky she'd shown this much restraint because she had long run out. She'd used it all, spent it on that time they were run out of their home and the time a dear friend paid for his mistake and the time a mother and her child both-_

 _-it was me I was the one giving the bandits supplies and Amelia was the last fucking person he should have told but no one kept him around for his brain-_

 _"If you ever leave her in danger to save yourself again…" she said slowly, careful to leave no room for misunderstanding because she meant every word. It was important for the both of them Ben understood, very clearly, that she didn't make empty threats. "…I will fucking bury you. You will run into a horde of walkers to get away from me and you'll be lucky if they kill you before I do."_

 _A hand on her shoulder forced her to take three steps back. Christa hit her with a disapproving look and anger in her voice. Amelia didn't like it, not from someone she liked as much as she liked Christa, but wasn't about to take back anything she did. Not a word._

 _"That's enough. We have bigger things to worry about right now."_

 _"Speak for yourself."_

 _Amelia shot Ben a glare from where she stood. He was swiping away the blood dripping from his forehead, and to his credit, glaring back. He was near tears and shaking but Amelia could see it clear as day. He was furious. Burdened by more rage than he knew what to do with._

 _Join the club._

 _He screamed at her back when she turned to walk away from him. He got the words out before Christa made him lower his voice, hurling one last insult that hit her right between the shoulder blades._

 _"We should have left you with Lilly! You're just like her!"_

She would always remember what it felt like to be the only one. One in a group of a dozen who considered Clementine's life more important than her own. A constant reminder that she and Clem were on their own, no matter how high the numbers of their group got. Until now.

"See anything?" Luke called up to Clementine.

"Umm…" Clem paused, staring out at the horizon through her binoculars. "Yeah. I can see the bridge,"

"And?"

"And…" she dragged the word out. If Amelia craned her neck at an uncomfortable angle she could see her sister sweeping her binoculars slowly over the railing. "…and that's it, really."

"Nothin'?"

Clementine turned around, looking down at the two of them and shaking her head. "It's just quiet. And dark."

"Well alright then. Good job, kid." Luke said. "Need help getting down?"

Clementine crossed her arms and huffed. "No,"

"Just tryin' to help."

Clementine stepped down onto the top rung of the ladder – the wrong way at first, facing out instead of in, but a word of warning from Amelia got her to turn around – and made her way down slowly. Amelia saw the way she hesitated at the top and guessed she was shaken by the height. The way up must have been easier than the way down.

Luke watched the whole time, though. Ready to lunge in and catch her should she slip. He didn't let his guard down until she hopped back onto solid ground with both feet.

"Should we…go inside now?" Clementine asked, looking from one to the other.

"Go ahead," Amelia answered first. A short jerk of her head toward the ski loft. "Go wait with Rebecca."

Clementine raised an eyebrow, an expression Amelia felt the girl should have trademarked by now. She looked from her to Luke and back, maybe expecting an explanation Amelia wasn't about to give. She looked to Luke and he didn't give one either. Likely because he didn't have one.

"Go on. We'll catch up." He said.

Amelia watched her sister contemplate their words and silently urged her to leave and _please don't make it weird_. Not long after she reminded herself that if Clem didn't make it weird, she would certainly do it herself.

"Okay…" Clem said, the last syllable drawn out like she was unsure of what she was doing. Or rather, why she was doing it.

Amelia called after her as she trudged uphill, having been recently reminded that Clem's listening skills were spotty at best. "Wait with Rebecca." She didn't want her sister volunteering to scout the building or climb any more heights. She hoped that between the five adults up there – well, four adults and a Nick – someone would be able to keep her in one place until Amelia joined them.

But first, a word.

She started the conversation with five ticks of silence even she felt was awkward. She knew it was because this time, she was the one with something to say and no idea where to start. Now it was her turn to struggle with words.

Luke let his eyes wander, drummed his fingers against his leg, reached up and scratched the back of his head.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?" He shook his head at her because didn't seem to know. That made two of them.

"I'm not good at-" Nope. Try again. "I just wanted to tell you…"

She trailed off, backspacing but feeling that she was closer to what she was getting at. Mentally, she took another step forward and flinched. Retreated back. Nope. Not what she wanted. She tried another. Another way to say it. Another set of first words.

Nope.

She silenced herself again, not about to tell him the truth. Not about to say to his face that she was fond of him, reminding herself that everyone else about whom she'd decided this was dead, that _I like you_ was a lethal phrase coming from her. She tried to write it off as pride, tried to say it was because it sounded too needy and shirt-tugging and personal.

Even if it was what she felt, some days. She'd rather die than act like it.

But she knew that wasn't what was in her head. She may have become adept at lying to others-

 _– except to Clementine, never to Clementine –_

-but no amount of practice could make her good enough to lie to herself. It wasn't because baring her feelings was too hard. It was because attachment from her was a death sentence, if her track record was anything to go on. A kiss from the angel of death. Like being bitten, but with even more blood and a different kind of pain.

"Amelia," he said, prompting her without pushing her. Giving her the kind of open invitation she'd never been one to wait for. Not rushing. But inviting. "What's on your mind?"

 _Just say something. If it comes out painfully stupid your backup plan is to throw yourself down that hill._

"Thank you."

The words hung in the air. Simple and easy enough, in themselves. But Amelia struggled to say them not because of what they meant but because of all the baggage that lurked behind them, scratching to get out with them now that she'd opened the floodgates. Almost like she couldn't pick and choose which of her feelings – all of which she'd long banished to emotional purgatory – could escape to see the sun again. _If you make an exception for gratitude then you have to make one for honesty and one for affection and-_

Luke seemed to know what she was talking about. He broke eye contact and blushed. Didn't ask her to elaborate. She did it anyway.

"For what you did on the bridge."

She saw mixed signals. He was flustered. His face told her that her words were unexpected and to an extent, unwanted. But not entirely unwelcome. He didn't seem to mind the thanks – but she realized the discomfort she was seeing came from the fact that he hadn't done it to be thanked.

Still, she had to do it. Didn't regret it. Yet.

"Don't, uh-" He shook his head at himself, subtly but Amelia saw it, barely. He tried again. "Don't worry about it." He gave a vague gesture over his shoulder, toward the ski lodge and the distant figures of the other members of the group. "Really, anyone else would'a done the same thing."

Amelia shook her head slowly. She knew that wasn't true. And she knew, because though Luke was optimistic he certainly wasn't dense, that somewhere in his massive heart he knew it too.

Not everyone would have done the same. Not even in this group.

"It's always been…" Just me. Amelia found herself talking to his shoes. Then his right shoulder. But not to his face. "I've always been the only one who…knows how important she is." Was that what she'd meant to say? "We've never met anyone who…we met one." _Don't forget. Don't ever forget him._ Amelia realized Luke would know who she was talking about if she shared his name. "His name was Chuck. He saved her life."

At great cost to himself. Traded his life for hers. A debt Amelia would never have been able to repay even if he'd lived.

"I remember hearin' about him." Luke nodded. "Sounds like he was…a good guy."

"I'm…" An idiot. Rambling. Embarrassing you, probably. "I'm not used to people putting her first. I wasn't expecting that from anyone here, and I won't forget it and…" And that's enough, for now. Forever. "…that's what I'm trying to say."

He took a few seconds to consider it – it didn't take long – before he gave her a smile full of what she hoped was understanding, not pity. The two looked alike to her.

"I don't know what kind of people you and Clementine have been runnin' with. If what you're sayin' is true then I think I see why you two ended up alone. You can't stay with people you can't trust."

 _No, you can't._

 _You can't stay with people who leave you hanging in the wind. Who would pull you down and hold you under so they themselves don't drown._

 _You can't stay with people keep things from you, either._

She'd never done the first. Never would, if she could help it. But she was in so deep with the second she wondered if she even had a place to judge others for it.

"So…does this mean the two of you aren't runnin' out on us?"

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it. "She would never speak to me again. I've never seen her like anyone as much as she likes you."

"Well, I'm a big fan of hers, too."

Easy silence. Seconds went by without making either of them try to look somewhere else or do something to keep busy. She didn't know whether it was her getting better at talking or Luke getting better at talking to her, but he had something else to say to her when she'd thought they were done.

"Okay…well-"

"Amelia…I can tell you're carryin' something with you. It's not hard to notice."

Ice in her stomach. _Damn it damn it damn it_ she'd been careful. Not always subtle, but careful.

He paused. "We're all entitled to our…personal stuff. But…if you ever change your mind and need someone to listen...you can tell me, is all I'm trying to say."

 _"You can tell him. He won't freak out."_

Was she willing to bet their future with these people, their safety, on the judgment of an eleven-year-old?

She might have answered these questions for herself, but they were both drawn up the hill by the overlapping sounds of shouted warnings, loaded guns, and the sound of recent history threatening to repeat itself.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you again to BHBrowne for beta reading the early version of this chapter!**


	17. Ghosts

**A/N: Thank you to BHBrowne for beta reading. His writing is rad and his Walking Dead stories are a great place to go for new Clementine-related content when you get tired of mine.**

* * *

Amelia whispered quietly enough that she was the only one who heard, a near-silent curse that turned to fog in the air as she said it. She stepped through the crowd that had gathered on the porch, slid past Rebecca, stepped around Luke's outstretched arm, pulled her wrist out of Nick's grip as he tried to hold her back because _what was she looking at-_

It was another dream. A detailed illusion her imagination conjured up to bludgeon her over the head with. It wasn't the first time she'd seen things in her dreams, certainly wasn't the first she'd seen that made her want to retreat back into her nightmares – the memories she avoided at all costs because the way in was easier to find than the way out.

It was, however, the first she couldn't tell apart from reality.

She thought she'd been awake, didn't know how and when she fell unconscious and was trying to remember. Adrenaline snaked its way through her veins, ice cold and heart-pounding as she realized Nick wasn't losing it, Nick didn't know what losing it was because he didn't think he was seeing Clementine speak to a long-dead friend. That was all her.

She stared daggers, stepped forward despite wanting to run in the other direction, disappear into the forest where she at least knew she would only find walkers. She drowned her thoughts in radio static and advanced on the three people in front of her, staring down the barrels of two rifles and a shotgun, held by a man and a woman and someone in between them who looked like-

He looked real enough to touch. Stooped down into a crouch with a hand on Clementine's shoulder and warm eyes and a heavily bearded smile. Clementine was still speaking, mid-sentence in some explanation Amelia barely heard despite the fact that her sister was right in front of her, muffled and distant, "-something you need to know about-"

He looked up. Dropped his smile as he saw her and stood. Put both hands back on his gun like she was the thing that didn't belong, the person whose presence here was cause for alarm.

Maybe she had it backwards. Maybe she was the hallucination in his head.

He spoke, and his voice was exactly as she remembered it in every way. "Holy-"

 _Amelia crouched in the hay, propped on her toes and fingertips, crushing fistfuls of straw in shaking hands and repeating in her adrenaline-soaked brain like a broken record-_

 _There's one of him and two of us there's one of him and two of us there's one of him and_

 _It didn't do much._

 _Footsteps came closer. Slowly, not because he was careful but because he was deliberate and broken and found some part of this funny._

 _"I know you're in here…"_

 _She pressed herself up against the stable wall, turning until she faced the opening he would have use if he wanted to get in._

 _One of him and two of us one of him and-_

 _He did what she'd hoped for and led with the gun, sticking the long barrel of the rifle in first. She stabbed a foot out and kicked it out of his grip, not completely but enough to force him to point it elsewhere. She stood up and lunged, hands out as if her fingers were claws and teeth bared because they were her only weapons and screaming because if he made it through her and Kenny he'd be moving on to the meat freezer where her sister hid._

 _He reached, trying to regain control of the gun and succeeding just enough to fire a shot into the ceiling-_

 _-shattered wood, splinters flying-_

 _-before Kenny wrenched it out of his hands._

 _He didn't waste any time, and as if Amelia needed to be reminded that he was fucked in the head, he wrapped both hands around her throat, completely undeterred by the fact that he'd been disarmed. To any normal person, that fight was over and done, but not to him and so not to Amelia, who found it hard to think clearly, to decide what to do while watching him choke her with a smile, slowly spreading._

 _She reached for her own neck, trapped a single index finger in her fist and in one sharp motion, vicious and rage-fueled-_

 _-you dismembered my friend alive-_

 _-made it point back at him at a ninety-degree angle. Snap. He let her go, and as Amelia dropped to the barn floor she thought-_

 _-you put him on a dinner table you sick fucking-_

 _-he might have screamed but she didn't hear it over the gunshot._

 _She only heard it after._

 _She could hear his howling over her own long, ragged inhale, having dropped on all fours and wanting nothing more than to get back up and as far away from him as possible. She didn't think he would stay down. He was a rabid animal; reason and pain were languages he didn't understand and a panicked throbbing in her chest told her the bullet lodged in his thigh was only going to make him angry._

 _Kenny chambered another round as she stood. The man writhing on the ground unexpectedly fell quiet, and the hard and unforgiving sound of shifting metal was suddenly the loudest thing in the barn._

 _Rainfall from outside._

 _"You see? You understand now, don't you? You can have me…" He said, staring straight down the barrel Kenny leveled to his face. He held his own leg – one of his fingers pointing out and back at an unnatural angle – as blood gushed from his upper thigh._

 _"What did you do with my family, you sick fuck?!"_

 _"It's how the world works now…give part of yourself so others can live!"_

 _"I am not fuckin' around with you! Tell me where they are or so fuckin' help me…"_

 _"You gotta keep me alive…if you kill me, the meat gets tainted. You can't eat it…"_

 _Kenny didn't respond. He gripped the loaded rifle in his hands. He glared with a look of disgust harsh enough to melt steel but he didn't answer and Amelia didn't know why. At first._

 _She found herself looking back to the freezer. Thinking that coming out here was a mistake, that she should have stayed behind with Clementine and Lilly should be the one making the decision in front of her._

 _He deserved it. There was no doubt in her mind about that. They all did._

 _But that wasn't the same as wanting to do it. As being able to. She didn't know, she didn't know, every time she asked herself all she could say was she didn't know. Of the three adults in that barn-_

 _-not including the corpse-_

 _\- a list to which she barely belonged, she wasn't the one to ask-_

 _BANG._

 _Shattered skull. Fountain of blood. Grey matter and a basketball-sized imprint of dark red covered the stable wall behind him. He slumped forward, still and absent and dripping blood into his own lap._

 _Kenny threw the empty rifle to the floor, as disgusted with it as he was with second skull he'd destroyed in the last ten minutes-_

 _He said something, maybe to her, but she didn't hear over the sound of her own heartbeat._

"- _shit_ …Amelia?"

Wide eyes. Confusion. Maybe even fear.

She didn't get the same fond smile and loving eyes. She was a surprise but not a pleasant one. Clementine was a good surprise by every meaning of the word, a silver lining, an unexpected moment of sunshine in the middle of a hailstorm. Amelia knew by the way he still hesitated to lower his gun that her presence was an impossibility. One exception in the universal rules of the new reality they'd all become accustomed to. It didn't make sense. Wasn't supposed to happen. The way Kenny was looking at her couldn't have been far from the way her new group would have had looked at her given the chance _this is why you didn't tell them._

She moved forward, too fast to look natural but it was all she could do to stop herself from sprinting at him, risking scaring one of the many armed people around her-

- _Nick-_

-into firing. He hadn't fully lowered his gun yet but it was the last thing on her mind _he would never shoot me-_

 _-Nick is more likely to shoot me than-_

-and she almost shoved Clementine out of the way because she needed to speak before he did.

She hooked an arm around him and pulled him close by the neck in something far too aggressive, too urgent to be called a hug. She whispered, a collision of words running into each other because she was too frantic to separate them, but the message was clear:

"Don't say anything don't say anything don't just don't say it don't they don't know just don't-"

He dropped his gun, letting it fall with a _thud_ on the porch wood. Hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her back and holding her there at arm's length. Kenny looked over her face, looking like he was in shock and in pain and like touching her had done nothing to convince him she was real.

She shook her head. She wanted to explain, to tell him to stay quiet, to ask his questions later _just whatever you do don't ask them here._

"They don't know." This was all that came out.

His grip on her shoulders tightened, just enough to tell her what was coming had she been focused enough to guess. He pulled her in – yanked her, really – in a motion sudden enough that for a split second she expected to be crushed. But his arms surrounded her shoulders gently in a hug, a real one. One with sincerity and warmth and meaning behind it, not just frantic warning. It was comforting in the way familiar things were, a moment of relief in a sea of strangers and death. He covered the back of her head with one hand like she was much younger and smaller than she was and it resurfaced something she'd buried a long time ago, a voicemail left on her cell phone she never would have deleted if she'd known what was to come _your mom and I will be back in time for you to go on your Spring Break trip keep an eye on Clementine and we'll see you soon we love you-_

Amelia hugged him back, maybe squeezing tighter than she meant to but couldn't help it with the way her throat was starting to choke up d _on't cry shut up shut up-_

Kenny let her go and held her at arm's length again. He smiled this time. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. She felt her cheeks start to burn when her breath hitched, forcibly burying a sob deep into her chest, holding it there until it died and withered away so she could breathe again.

He was still smiling at her when she looked back up. He'd seen it, there was no doubting that. But he wasn't about to tell, or judge.

Another secret of hers he seemed prepared to keep.

Her thoughts wandered behind her to her heavily-armed friends, and she knew without looking none of them had lowered their weapons yet-

 _"-dammit, Amelia, are you listening?"_

 _She wasn't. She was watching the blood trickle down in a stream, thin and pitter-patter and soaking into the hay that coated the floor. It was starting to make a puddle._

 _She finally met his eyes. Her head was empty, save for a single thought. Against everything insider her that told her not to, she had the urge to share it and lacked the energy to stop herself._

 _"We never should have come here."_

 _Kenny didn't answer. He breathed. Loudly. Still buzzing with adrenaline he had to burn off. He checked the gun. Found he'd used the only bullet. Threw it aside._

 _"Yeah, well it's too fuckin' late for that."_

 _"You didn't have to do that." Amelia breathed, listening to her own words tumble out like auditory vomit, about to be followed by real vomit, if the twisting hollowness in her stomach was to be believed._

 _"Amelia, don't you start."_

 _Yes. Don't start this again, she thought. Not after we just did it. Different weapon, different corpse, different murder. Same shit. Same day._ _Death was permanent. It was done. Kenny was ending a fight their group didn't start. These people brought this on themselves._

 _That was what she told herself._

 _Without a word, Kenny walked to the corner and took a large, curved meat hook from the wall._

 _"Kenny, what are you going to-?"_

"-Amelia,"

She blinked. Kenny's hand still on her shoulder, she looked back behind her to see guns lowered to the floor. Faces covered in blood and dirt. She felt a small elbow in her hip and looked down at Clementine, then back to Kenny. People seemed to be waiting. On her?

"What?"

"I said, let's get everyone inside."

She nodded her agreement, relieved to be able to avoid words.

The other man spoke up from behind Kenny, making Amelia realize she'd forgotten Kenny wasn't alone. "Great," Amelia looked him over from a distance, listening for the sarcasm that accompanied that word more often than not. "I just started dinner."

She didn't know what to think. The man was either dedicated to his mockery, winding them up, waiting for someone to bite so he could slap them down with the punch-line, _great, I just started dinner, why don't you all come in for a three-course and a dip in our hot tub full of champagne-_

That, or he meant it. But nobody ever meant it.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Carlos asked carefully. The idea of food made Amelia want the answer, badly, and she was glad Carlos spoke before she did. She would have phrased it…differently.

 _Are you fucking with us?_

"It'll storm soon. Please, come in."

And he smiled. It was subtle and empathetic, and Amelia knew he was a stranger but at the same time felt he wasn't. She told herself it was because they had a mutual friend – that he knew Kenny, and this other woman in a teal sweatshirt who made her think of a school nurse. She tried to convince herself it was because she found it hard to be afraid of people wearing sweaters-

- _Luke-_

 _-_ when the truth was he seemed too nice to be any trouble. A willingness to share with strangers without even asking questions was the kind of nice that dangerous people didn't know how to fake.

That seemed good enough for her group. The others made their way inside, and while people passed her on either side she didn't move, her shoes planted on the porch wood like they were nailed down. She watched Kenny, trying to show herself one more time that he was real. She was awake. She didn't make this up.

The others could see him too.

She watched him go to the lodge's glass double doors and hold one open for her sister, and watched them both stop in the doorway and look back for her. She waved. _I'll catch up._

Clementine understood. She looked up to Kenny, nodded and gestured for them to go in, told him the same thing Amelia had told her.

The door closed behind them. Amelia had expected to be alone, and was vaguely aware that she wasn't. She didn't have to look to know who stood just behind her.

Nick cleared this throat. "So, what, uh…" A pause. "What was that about?"

Her answer was too brief. Too simple. Numb. "I thought he died."

"Oh. Shit…" He looked out over the balcony, trying to look somewhere else. "I feel like an asshole for…" His hands fidgeted with his rifle; Amelia listened to quietly shifting metal, rounds rattling in the chamber. "Sorry."

She shook her head again. The numbness started to give way, sparked into clarity as reality sunk in. Took its time doing it, but it did. "I-I told Clementine he died…because…"

She knew what she saw, years ago. She remembered because she couldn't forget. The last day she saw Kenny was burned into her memory as permanently as every other goodbye that was said before she was ready.

She wanted to know how he survived. She never saw another way out in that alley. She'd looked for one like her life depended on it because it had. The question was like an itch in the dead center of her back. It got worse the more she thought about it, drawing a blank every time she asked herself how he did it.

But, strange as it was, between the two of them, she was the one with more explaining to do.

"I feel like you're leaving something out."

The comment was unexpected. More candid than she was used to from him. She couldn't find words right away and had to force herself not to stutter.

"I told you. I thought he was dead."

Nick's hands buried themselves in his pockets, his gun hung over one shoulder. She watched his thoughts cross his face as he hesitated and then got over it, more quickly than she'd have liked. "That's not how I'd react if I saw someone I thought'd died."

True. She paused, forced her words to come out sounding like she'd thought them through. Like they weren't a filler phrase notorious for its convenient use as a copout.

"It's complicated."

"Usually when people say it's complicated, it's real fuckin' simple."

Amelia sighed heavily she could stop herself. Might've felt her eyelid twitch. The spark of anger came on fast and unexpected because in nearly three years she hadn't met someone who refused to buy the half-assed excuses she sold. Avoidance and non-answers always worked when she used them. Or they used to.

It was irritating.

And from the look on his face, he wasn't sorry for it.

"It's not."

"You sure about that?"

Maybe it could have been, if she let it. If she cut away all the circumstance and mixed emotions and disbelief, she was left with simplicity. That she told herself she was happy to see her old friend, but when it came time to talk with him she decided to stand out in the cold for no reason she could give.

It didn't matter whether Nick was right. She'd never admit it to him either way.

"I don't know what to tell you." _Ease up,_ she warned herself again. _Calm. Down. Or he'll figure it out._ She took a breath that shook more than she'd have liked it to. "It's…a surprise. I don't know what to think yet."

Nick hesitated. She wasn't any better at guessing his thoughts than she had been when they met. She watched the idea occur to him. Watched him second-guess whether it was a good idea to say it, then watched him remember that he didn't care.

It wasn't lost on her that he still cared enough to tread lightly when he did it. "Did he…do something?" He paused, trying to knock gently on the door instead of kicking it down. "Did he…hurt you? Or Clementine?"

Amelia blinked through her shock, almost laughed at the best joke she'd heard all day. She shook her head, relieved that for once the truth and the answer she wanted to give were the same thing. "No. Never."

She hoped Nick had inherited his lie-detecting skills from his uncle. He seemed to mull it over; she took the confusion on his face to mean he believed her, but still wasn't satisfied with where that left them. So she offered something else. Another truth that she hadn't planned on sharing that day or any other, but she hoped would be enough for him to let this go.

"Clem and I would both be dead without him."

"What aren't you telling me?"

Enough that the question was almost comical. So many places to start that she'd never be able to choose, which was fine by her.

"I just need a minute." No response from him, which she knew wasn't because he didn't know what was coming. Of the handful of issues that existed between them, so far miscommunication wasn't one of them. At least not when they did it on purpose. "Alone."

There was that look again. Dissatisfied and frustrated and resisting the urge to do what people like the two of them did best – push. Persistently. As hard and as far as they had to to get what they needed. To stay safe. To keep others safe. Amelia didn't like seeing it on him, and turned away. She faced the porch balcony, overlooking the pine-dotted slopes, and gripped the railing, thinking of all things that she should be careful not to work a splinter into her palm.

Things were quiet for a minute, both around her and in her own head, for which she was grateful. She wondered if Nick being out here with her had anything to do with it. She remembered vague, heated thoughts in heated moments, about two broken pieces that don't quite fit together but look less broken when they try. Another damaged mind to stop the volatile runaway train of her own.

She heard the zipper and the rustling of fabric while she was distracted by her own farfetched ideas, and was busy telling herself to let them go. Nick's jacket settled over her shoulders, heavy and soft. She didn't look but she listened to the words fogging up the air just behind her.

"If you're staying out here for a while…here. Come find me if you need me."

She nodded, to no one in particular.

 _When they do something nice for you, you have to say thank you._

"Thanks."

Then there were footsteps, and she was alone. Just like she asked to be.

She didn't like it.

She counted to twenty. Then to fifty. Then to fifty again. Killing time, but doing it slowly. Stabbing each individual second and leaving it to bleed out at her feet. A stupid thing to do, she knew, when time on this earth was something she and everyone around her had both too much and not enough of.

When she'd decided she'd wasted enough, she turned around and went inside.

* * *

Everything around her changed the moment she crossed the doorway. Like she'd stepped through a threshold, a tangible line between one world and another. She'd been surrounded by silence. Isolation. White hills and dim skies. Then there was light. Heat. Colors. Noise. People.

Fucking Christmas music.

All of it came out of nowhere fast enough to knock her sideways. She stopped at the bottom step of the entryway and considered walking back outside just to experience it again. She was greeted by a friendly face and a familiar red sweater at the top of the stairs before she could act on it.

"Amelia, right? I'm glad you're here."

She tried not to look like she was doubting the sincerity of his smile or accusing his obvious kindness of being fake. But when someone had a way of saying things like _I'm glad you're here_ and convincing her that he actually meant it, it was hard to keep the disbelief from showing on her face.

"My name's Walter. Please, come in. You must be cold."

She was. The extra jacket helped. She liked it more than her own because it was already warm when she put it on. It reminded her that the people around her still had beating hearts and body heat – and that at least one of them was willing to share his with her.

That and it smelled like him. Familiar. Comforting.

 _Jesus…_ Amelia rolled her eyes, provoked only by her own thoughts and her ability to feel shame. _Get a grip._

Getting a grip wasn't the problem. She already had one. One made of iron and attachment and she didn't know how to let go.

Walter threw a quick glance over his shoulder and lowered his voice just a touch. "I doubt he'd admit it, but I think Kenny was starting to worry." He waved a hand toward the bench just inside the doorway. Amelia recognized the backpack she and Clem shared. A small armory of guns, including her own. "You can leave your weapons over there with the others."

"Right. I…" She shook her head, considering herself lucky that she was explaining Hilda's loss to Walter, and not to its original owner.

Walter saw her hesitancy, and misunderstood. "I understand why you might be reluctant. But I promise you won't have any need for them here."

She believed him.

"I don't have any." She said, numb in the fingertips. And the face. "I had one but I lost it."

"Well, in that case, welcome. I know Kenny can't wait to talk to you."

Another voice. Just as warm and twice as familiar. "We talkin' about me?"

Kenny came to a stop at the top of the stairs; this time his smile was warm and immediate. If nothing else, she couldn't say he didn't recover fast.

Walter grinned. "Only good things,"

"Sure, Walt." He chuckled, and nodded toward the bench, arms crossed. "Weapons on the bench, kid. It wasn't easy getting your friends to drop their shit, I'll tell you that."

She could imagine. She took a breath, astounded all over again that the two of them were in the same room despite all the reasons she never thought it would happen again. She smiled. Almost laughed.

"I'm clean."

"You?" Kenny crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow almost as grey and thick as his beard. "Bet you got a switchblade in each sock."

"Joke's on you. I don't even have socks."

He laughed. She didn't think her joke had been that funny, but he gave a genuine laugh anyway.

Walter seemed like the type to appreciate laughter, even – maybe especially – if it was for no real reason. "You two must have some catching up to do."

Neither of the two answered.

 _You could say that._

* * *

She dangled her feet in front of the open fire, legs hanging over the arm of her stuffed chair. The heat penetrated through the soles of her shoes and warmed her entire body in minutes. She could feel her cheeks going red. If she looked to the other side of the room, she could see Clem. Digging through boxes of Christmas decorations and trading brightly colored ornaments with Sarah. Hanging candy canes and stars on a tree that didn't look like it had any space left. Not that Clem wouldn't find a way to do it anyway. She looked happy. Excited about something, for once. Amelia could've watched from a distance for a long time.

She was interrupted only occasionally by a cough from Kenny.

He took a breath, about to speak, and let it out in a sigh. "Well." It was a pleasant sigh. One he followed up with a smile like someone had just told him a good joke. Or he'd just come up with one. "I'll just come out and say it. You should be dead."

Amelia couldn't stop herself from smiling back. Receiving news that hit like a train and taking it in stride – with humor, even – was something she'd never figured out how to do. Everything was dark to her. Everything was life-threatening or about to be followed by its worst possible outcome, which she had to be ready for. Being around people who smiled about things was different. Uplifting.

That, and she didn't think she'd ever see Kenny happy again.

"That makes two of us."

"Look, Amelia, before we talk, I just…I gotta ask. Me, I got lucky. Found a sewer grate and got away from those things underground. Almost bit it a dozen times over, but I made it. But you…"

"Just-" Amelia turned to sit upright in the chair, putting her feet flat on the floor and leaning in, elbows resting on her knees. "Just keep your voice down, please."

Kenny threw a half-hearted look over his shoulder checking that no one else in the lobby was within earshot. Amelia didn't bother. She'd checked every thirty seconds since they sat down.

He seemed to disagree with her choice, but lowered his voice anyway.

"I saw you. I saw the bite."

"Do you have to use the word?" Amelia whispered sharply. She was hoping for a conversation vague enough that even if they were overheard, no one in her group would know exactly what it was about. They would have to ask her. Which would give her a chance to lie. Another necessary evil she would choose for a good reason. Or so she told herself.

She pulled herself back. "Sorry." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Haven't told 'em." Kenny finished, leaning back in his seat. "I figured." There it was again. The look on his face might've been judgment, might've been something else. May or may not have been directed at her. She wanted to know what he was thinking but didn't want to ask.

She pushed a fist in her her own hand, cracking all five fingers at once. She didn't mind explaining. As long as they kept it fast and quiet. So she decided to give him the short version, just above a whisper.

"I got sick. I passed out. I woke up."

"Just like that," He repeated slowly. Squinting at her. "You 'woke up'."

"It surprised me too." _It's not like I planned it. Or asked for it._

Did she?

For the first time in years, she remembered that somewhere between the selfish relief and morbid fear for Clementine's life, she'd stopped screaming just long enough to wish for a second chance. Silently in her own head, she made a promise to nothing and no one that if she had the chance to do it over, she wouldn't fuck it up again. Not ever.

She did ask for this. She didn't think there was a chance in hell she would get it. But she asked.

Kenny leaned back in his seat on the couch, slouching against the cushion. "Well, shit."

Yeah. Shit.

No one spoke for a minute. Amelia didn't mind, and she went back to listening to the fire crackle and burn. She'd forgotten that Kenny wasn't one to demand explanations. Which suited her just fine, as someone who hated giving them.

He cleared his throat. "Clem filled me in. Told me where you ended up, how you got here." He went quiet. "I'm sorry it's been so hard on you girls. I wish I'd found you sooner."

Amelia spoke to her own hands, not to Kenny. But she meant what she said. "It wasn't your fault."

"I looked for you."

"I know you did."

"She says they're on the run?" He shook his head in disbelief. "From some guy chasin' you through the mountains?"

She nodded. Again, Kenny didn't seem to want much of an explanation – which suited her well since this time she didn't even have one to give. She had an idea. One she hadn't asked anyone to confirm because she already knew no one would.

"Well I can tell you one thing. You two don't have to worry about that. It ain't your problem anymore."

She frowned. Tried not to look like she was thinking too hard and went with a nod. "Yeah." She should have liked the way that sounded. She knew it was because her new friends and their problems were a package deal. She'd already accepted both, and didn't want to take the decision back. At least she didn't think she did.

No, she didn't.

He leaned forward in his seat. He didn't ask right away, leaving a five-second pause for Amelia to brace herself for whatever was about to come. "Amelia, do you trust these people?"

"Yes." Without meaning to, she broke eye contact. She kicked herself, realizing it only after it was too late.

"That's not very convincing, darlin'."

She held back a frustrated sigh. It wasn't convincing because she wasn't sure if she meant it. She tried. But trusting one or two wasn't the same as trusting them all. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Did something happen?" _Yes._ _There was a shed and Pete cut off his own leg and another shed and two strangers and a bridge-_ "You can tell me."

"We've been on the road for five days. A lot happened."

"I heard."

Amelia's eyes darted from Kenny to her sister; her back was turned and she was trying to hang an ornament on a branch just an inch too tall for her, even on her tiptoes. Sarah plucked the hook from her fingers with a smile, and hung it for her.

Amelia looked back to Kenny, and thought too late that she should at least try to keep the alarm from showing on her face. "Heard what?"

Kenny had followed her eyes to Clementine. "You were always willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe. I've always been proud of you for that." She waited for him to say something else. Add something to the contrary because that wasn't all he had to say. He didn't.

Maybe Nick had been right. She could choose to make things complicated or let it be simple. Clementine was alive. She might not have been if Amelia had chosen differently.

"I know it ain't easy. Tellin' yourself you did the right thing when…I wouldn't say this in front of her, but…you did good, Amelia. Don't forget that."

Amelia tried to think back to the things her group had said to her. About her. The reasons they disagreed, the reasons they were angry and the reasons they took her gun away. She couldn't remember any, at the moment.

"Tell me about 'em." Kenny eyed the small crowd of people gathered about the lobby. Most had their backs turned. Amelia could see Sarah and Sarita decorating the Christmas tree by the staircase. Carlos seemed to be mid-conversation Nick. Nick was looking out through the window while Carlos was talking and Amelia could tell from here that he wasn't listening, and she silenced a laugh. "That doctor fella the one in charge?"

"Uh." Amelia brought herself back to their conversation. She'd been asked who was in charge. Or something close to it. "Luke makes a lot of the decisions."

"Farm boy's callin' the shots?" Kenny turned around to look again. Amelia did the same. She swept the room for broad shoulders in orange and didn't see them. "Huh." Kenny leaned back into the couch and fixed Amelia with a scrutinizing look. She recognized it, and didn't know what he was expecting her to say.

"What?"

"What about that punk in the baseball cap?" Kenny nodded in the general direction.

"What?" Amelia repeated herself, feeling dumb and redundant but doing it all the same.

"He say somethin' while you were alone out on the porch?"

Disbelief and non-answers were all she could fall back on. She couldn't believe what he was asking, let alone find something to answer him with. "Are you serious?"

"What about farm boy?"

Her words came out sharper than she'd meant them to. "What about him?"

He looked like he'd been about to say something else, but dropped it. Probably because he remembered enough about Amelia to know that if she was keeping a secret it wouldn't be pried out of her like this, no matter how persistent he was. Kenny was one of the few people who matched her on that front. As stubborn as she was about keeping secrets, she already knew he was just as hard to convince – even when there was no secret to keep.

"Look, I know you don't know them…"

Kenny leaned forward in his seat. Lowered his voice again but looked directly at her without a hint of a smile.

"Either one of them lays a hand on you, you let me know."

Amelia's thoughts pinballed between telling him no one here was a threat and demanding to know why he thought she needed his help-

-all while her vindictive subconscious hissed something along the lines of _three days too late-_

If she wasn't capable of spotting dangerous people and dealing with them when they needed to be dealt with – twice, in the last week – she and Clem would have died a long time ago. She tried not to take offense to it, knowing it wasn't what Kenny meant. Of the two points, one of them was far more important to make.

"They're good people. They're not dangerous." She could tell without a word from him that Kenny wasn't about to budge.

"And you're the expert, with you're whole five days of knowin' them."

She thought so. Ever since the world went to shit, as far as she'd seen, people weren't patient enough to hide who they really were for an entire week. When they were the type Kenny was talking about, the type to lock them in a freezer or stalk them through a city or kidnap a child…they made it clear much faster than that.

 _"-growin' up in rural Georgia, you're taught-"_

 _"-think very carefully about the next words you-"_

 _"-so whaddya say, Amy? Should we just kill these folks and take all their-"_

The train ran away again. She put the brakes on hard until she got sparks and red rails. Now wasn't the time to reach back into her mind for those people. Not now, not ever. They were in her past or in the ground, where they belonged.

Why she had such a hard time leaving them there was a question for another day.

"Kenny. Listen to me." Amelia sat forward in her seat. Almost stood up. She wouldn't be misunderstood, not even by someone whose opinions were as resolute as Kenny's. For a split second, she was back in Macon, arguing with Kenny over some disagreement the group had been struggling with for days, fighting in circles because they'd hit the impasse that they always came to when they argued. "You don't need to expect the worst from them. I already did. They showed me I was wrong."

He considered it. She could see that much. He took a breath. "Alright."

Now she was the one who wasn't convinced. Kenny didn't drop things this easily. She felt something else was needed, and remembered that honesty had a way of paying off, even when she used it in small amounts. "They're my friends. I trust them."

"With your life?"

That wasn't fair. He knew that. That kind of trust wasn't something Amelia handed out freely. She gave it to so few people she wasn't sure she knew how anymore. But she couldn't say it without sounding defensive. Not without admitting she was wrong about her friends, even in some small, indirect way.

"…that's a big jump, Kenny."

"You still trust me with your life?"

Amelia didn't often speak without thinking. There weren't many things she could say without any second thought.

"Of course."

"Doesn't seem that big, then, does it?"

"You know that's not the same thing."

Kenny leaned back and crossed his arms. "These people don't know you survived a bite 'cause you don't trust them enough to tell them." He raised an eyebrow in a way she still hated as much as she did the first time she ever saw him do it. It meant the argument was over, no matter how far from over she wanted it to be. "That says everything I need to know."

Amelia hesitated to answer. This wasn't the first time she'd unintentionally spoken volumes with what she chose not to say.

She felt she'd already done enough, and that talking in circles wouldn't serve to fix any of it. She nodded, and stood up to leave.

"Amelia," the sound of her name stopped her before she got any further. The voice speaking it was kind and warm, not screaming it in panic because of a disaster in the back of a cigarette truck, or shouting at her with a mix of rage and caution by someone who was both furious at her and afraid of her. She turned back to look, and found that Kenny's expression matched the affection in his voice. "I'm real glad to have you two back. I hope you know that."

It brought up a smile that just barely touched the surface.

* * *

She told him she would help her sister decorate the tree. She might have even meant it at the time. She'd seen her sister digging through a cardboard box big enough for her to make a fort out of, trading candy canes and snow globes with Sarah. Handing them to the woman Kenny had called Sarita to put them up higher than either of them could reach. All three of them smiled and it looked like the kind of peaceful, quiet fun Amelia hadn't seen or heard in a long time.

But she'd walked right past it – the massive artificial pine reached almost to the ceiling, clear up to the second story – slipping into a quiet hallway before anyone could ask her to stop and help. She might have kept her word if she thought Kenny had heard anything she'd told him about her friends.

He'd heard her. But with Kenny, hearing and believing were two different things. She remembered him well, and knew he rarely did both at the same time.

So instead she found herself tailing him through the kitchen, down the hallway, up the stairs at a distance. Oddly enough, she knew he of all people would understand. She wasn't alone in her trust issues.

He stepped into a room that, unless he'd picked up a habit of talking to himself over the years, which Amelia wouldn't have blamed him for – wasn't empty. He'd arranged for someone to meet him here, far from the lobby where they might be overheard.

She stopped just outside the door, pressing against the frame and trying not to make the floorboards creak they way they always did when she was trying not to get caught in the silence. She'd left her conversation with Kenny certain that, as far as the trust he had for the strangers in his lodge, she'd hurt more than she helped. She'd listen for as long as it took to gauge how much damage she did.

Kenny's words were low. Rushed, but not urgent.

She didn't hear everything from where she stood and couldn't get any closer. Kenny was doing most of the talking. _-look, this is gonna be-_ and _–gotta listen to everything I'm gonna-_ and _–need to get in front of this-_ Walter cut in occasionally, - _okay slow down-_ and – _we'll just talk to them-_

"-Kenny, relax, I'm sure Luke and his friends-"

The beginnings and ends of their sentences dissolved into nonsense, muffled by the door that stood between them. Pressing her ear up against it didn't do much to help. She strained to hear, and only caught pieces of Kenny's words.

"-need to talk to their people before-"

"-Amelia won't-"

"-by dinner, and we don't need the-"

The mention of her name had her hand on the doorknob before she considered whether she should try to hear more. Turn. Push. Creak.

Kenny looked surprised, if only for a moment. He seemed to remember that he shouldn't have been expecting anything else from her. She walked into the room, looking between him and Walter. She stopped an arm's length away from Kenny and waited for the explanation – the one she was sure Kenny had no choice but to give after being caught like this.

He didn't offer one, so she asked. "What are you talking about?"

Kenny shot Walter a look she didn't understand. "Nothin' you need to worry about right now," he told her.

 _No fucking way._

"Kenny." _You can't be serious._ She crossed her arms, amazed and irked that his stubbornness truly had no limits. She stopped herself from swearing out loud, thinking it would make her come off as angrier than she was. Apprehension and aggression were different things to her; though one could turn into the other at the drop of a hat. "I heard my name."

"Amelia," Kenny rested a hand on her shoulder. She fought the urge to brush it off and demand he tell her the truth. She did neither, knowing it wouldn't get her anywhere.

"If there's something going on, I need to know,"

"You've been out there for too long. You're safe here."

She agreed with him on the first. Didn't have a comment on the second.

"Now isn't the time. I'll catch you up later, but you need to trust me on this." He waited for an answer and didn't get one. "You just get to the dining hall and wait for dinner, alright?"

She wanted to believe him. She'd been reminded in the last week that earning trust started with giving it.

But she'd been reminded more times than she could count that when she thought something was wrong, she was usually right. She was familiar with the unease in the pit of her stomach, and she was just as familiar with the tone of someone telling her to back off – no matter how reassuring the words sounded.

Kenny had been away for a long time. But not long enough for Amelia to forget that he was an immovable goddamn object. Knowing she'd heard the truth but not the whole truth didn't change the fact that she couldn't pry the rest of it out of him if she'd been armed with a crowbar.

"You trust me on this, don't you?"

She nodded a _yes,_ unsure of how much she meant it, and did as she was told.

* * *

"Right here, girls!" Kenny's hand in the air drew their attention not three steps into the dining hall, each with a bowl of peaches and beans in hand. It looked like he beat Luke to saying the same thing by no more than a second. Luke dropped his hand, looking between Amelia, Clem, and Kenny's table before turning to face forward in his seat. Amelia tried not to look at Nick.

She could've guessed that the two groups would separate. She knew they didn't trust each other even a little. Should have guessed it sooner. Then she and her sister wouldn't have been on the spot, the way they were now.

One table or the other. She hoped she was the only one who thought their choice could be indicative of more than the people they preferred to eat with.

Yeah. No one else thought that.

Clementine fidgeted with her bowl, looking anxiously between their options.

"Split up?"

"There's an idea." Amelia might not have thought of that herself. But she was onboard. Then no one could say they played favorites with one group over the other, at least as a pair.

Clem cleared her throat. Amelia could hear her hesitation. Last time she'd spoken to her alone, she'd seemed happy. Relieved. Comfortable, for the first time in a long time. What was bothering her?

"You should go sit with Luke. And Nick and Sarah…"

Amelia knew an afterthought when she heard it. She thought briefly that she should ask why. She wanted to know, but not as badly as she wanted answers out of Kenny. She had a strong feeling that she had a time limit in which she had to find the truth before something bad happened. Everything else could wait.

"I have to talk to Kenny."

"Are you sure?"

"It's important. Go ahead." _Sorry kid._ Amelia saw her disappointment, but didn't understand it. If asked to guess, she'd have thought Clem would want to sit with their new friends. She spent the last five days surgically attached to Luke at the hip but didn't want to eat with him now?

One thing at a time.

She repeated it to herself as she sat down across the table from Kenny and the woman who'd met the group outside.

"Amelia, I don't think you met Sarita," Kenny said as she sat down. The woman greeted Amelia with a warm smile, which she tried her best to return.

"It's nice to meet you, honey," she said, in an accent Amelia quickly decided she liked listening to. "Clementine speaks very highly of you, you know."

Amelia smiled again. It faded slowly as she looked back to Kenny and remembered why she'd chosen his table.

"Is Clem gonna join us?" he asked her.

"Maybe later."

Kenny took a huge bite of peaches that could barely be contained in his spoon. "I take it you want to talk about what you heard earlier. Since you're over here lookin' at me like you don't trust me."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. If he thought he gave her a reason not to trust him, that said more than she could with her own words. _You said it, not me._

Kenny paused, spoon in the air, mid-bite. He rolled his eyes. He seemed irritated, if only for a second, before he buried it under a smile and a low chuckle. Whether it was genuine or forced, Amelia couldn't tell.

"Don't do the silent thing, Amelia. Drives me nuts."

Amelia didn't know what to tell him. She'd stop the silent glare when they had the conversation he'd tried to avoid twice now.

"There's an explanation for all of it. We just need to have a talk, that's all."

"I'm listening."

"After dinner, darlin'. Trust me. Everything'll be alright."

She believed him. Despite the fact that it went against every habit she'd formed over the last two years, she put her suspicions to rest, if only temporarily. She remembered pushing only got her so far. Especially with Kenny.

She picked up her fork-

"I talked to the kid. What's his name…Luke?"

-and set it down, resting it against the bowl's rim with a _tink._ "And?" She drummed her fingers on the table, waiting and expecting nothing good.

"Ken," Sarita dragged his name out just a little, implicit with warning. "There's no need…"

"Sarita, we don't know these folks,"

"No, but we know Amelia. And Clementine." Amelia noticed she already used _we_ , and she didn't mind it. "I think we can trust their judgment of character. Their friends seem nice-"

"Gators seem nice, too, 'til one of 'em bites your damn arm off,"

She rolled her eyes, something Amelia guessed she did often. "Kenny,"

He propped an elbow on the table and pointed at Amelia. "How much have they told you about this guy they're runnin' from? 'Cause he wouldn't tell me jack shit."

Amelia's fingers moved faster. _Taptaptaptaptap_. She broke eye contact and looked away, searching for something interesting she could pretend to be looking at.

Kenny nodded, a grin, of all things, on his face. "They didn't tell you either, did they?"

Amelia picked up her fork again, pretending that her food needed to be stirred more than they needed to finish this conversation.

" _Amelia._ "

"No." She huffed. "They wouldn't tell me." She had an idea. One based on dark suspicion and the process of elimination. One she'd kept to herself because having it confirmed or denied wouldn't have been worth the turmoil it might have caused. Especially if – when – their plan to disappear into the mountains worked. "It's not going to matter when we lose him."

"It's not gonna matter tomorrow." Kenny corrected. "They'll leave in the morning and you and Clem can stay here,"

Sarita nodded. "Absolutely. Honey, you and Clementine can stay with us as long as you want."

"They're stayin' for good,"

"If that's what they want," Sarita looked to Amelia, maybe expecting her to answer. Kenny did it for her.

"Of course they do."

Amelia didn't know how to start a conversation full of things Kenny wasn't going to want to hear. She didn't want their new friends moving on without them any more than her sister did; she didn't know how to get Kenny onboard with an idea he was going to hate.

"About that-"

"This is like a dream. Damn it, I am _so happy_ right now. I can't even tell you!"

Amelia stopped herself and decided to start small. If Kenny knew she was trying to change his mind, then it would never happen.

Amelia folded her arms over the tabletop and leaned forward, lowering her voice. She threw a glance over her shoulder, looking for Nick. He sat next to Pete, and Amelia was relieved to notice the color had returned to his face. One meal and the man already seemed less hollow in the cheeks and under the eyes. They were talking as they ate, at a volume Amelia couldn't hear. Pete even smiled. Once. Briefly.

She pointed a discreet finger over her shoulder at Nick, knowing anyone at their table might be watching. "You know that one saved my life?"

Kenny paused. Scrunched thick eyebrows as he looked over Nick at the other table, frowning like he was trying to remember where he'd seen him before. She wasn't surprised. She hadn't expected his skepticism to disappear just like that. But she was glad to hear it when he said, "No. I didn't know that."

"He pulled me out from under a pile of walkers. And he…" she switched arms, pointing over her other shoulder with a subtle index finger. "Saved Clem."

Kenny blinked. Amelia hoped it was surprise. She hoped it was the look of someone rethinking his first impressions and snap judgments. "He found her out in the woods when we got separated. They took her in until I caught up with her."

 _And the shed I found her in will never be mentioned here, ever._ It was the last thing she needed.

Kenny didn't answer. Amelia waited for him to respond.

"You gotta understand why I don't like this. A bunch of strangers is one thing. But you're runnin' around with a couple a'boys I don't know from a hole in the ground. And neither do you, for that matter."

"You and I were strangers once."

Amelia heard shuffling, dishes clinking, and realized people were getting up. She turned around at the noise and instead of seeing people leaving, she saw her sister up and walking, followed by Luke and Nick. All three were coming for their table. Probably about to take the empty seats on either side of her and Kenny.

She faced forward again and lowered her voice, talking fast to get the words out before her friends were in earshot. "I know what you're expecting of them and it's not who they are so try to be less of a dick. Please."

He seemed to consider it, when Amelia wouldn't have been surprised to see him reject it out of hand. He sighed. "What are their names again?"

Amelia sat upright, knowing full well she looked like she'd just been sharing secrets. The quizzical look Nick gave her as he took the seat next to her told her how obvious it was. She tugged the corners of her mouth up in a fast half-assed smile that disappeared as quickly as it showed up. Clem sat on her other side, and she watched Luke lower himself into the seat across the table, next to Kenny.

Crickets. The kind of tense silence where everyone had something to say but wasn't about to say it.

"Hey there."

"Hey."

"Hope you like the food."

"Oh. It's, uh…it's great. Thank you."

More crickets.

"Peaches and beans. Great for nutrition. Not too great on the way out though, I'll tell you," Kenny barely finished before erupting into a laughing fit loud enough to fill the dining hall.

Amelia's palms were flat on the table, pushing her up and out of her seat but Clem moved faster than Amelia had given her credit for; a small hand hooked into her elbow and pulled her back into the seat with a sharp tug.

 _Damn it._

Nick stifled a laugh, badly, and Amelia knew it wasn't at Kenny's joke. Maybe it was at her obvious discomfort, maybe that her attempt to bolt for the door had been crushed by an eleven-year-old. She considered both equally embarrassing. She swung her knee into his leg under the table, not gently. She tried not to smile while she did it.

"So…" Kenny started once he recovered. He pointed to the wrong people as he said, "It's…Luke and Nick."

Luke cleared this throat. Nick shook his head staring down into his food. Other than that, no one corrected him.

"Luke and Nick." Kenny said again. "You guys sure do look like a match."

Luke's fork hit the tabletop with a sharp _clank_ after fumbling out of his fingers. He picked it up, shooting Kenny one of the first intentionally unfriendly faces she'd ever seen him make.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nick asked, a sharp edge in his voice Amelia had heard enough times to know he was defensive, and irritable.

"I'm just sayin' you look like good friends, that's all." Kenny chuckled to himself. "Relax. I'm givin' you a hard time. Clem and Amelia know the drill."

Amelia muttered into her glass and wished immediately that she'd done it more quietly. "The one where you make people uncomfortable on purpose?"

"That's the one."

"So…what was your plan here? Hold out for the winter?"

"Actually, we're thinkin' of movin' on. Somewhere up north." It was clear that Amelia and Clementine were the only people at the table he was addressing when he asked, "You ever heard of a place called Wellington?"

Luke answered anyway, and the irritation showed on Kenny's face.

"Wellington? The hell is that?"

"A place."

"What kind of place?"

"A good one, Einstein,"

Clementine cut in, for which Amelia was grateful. Clem looked to her as she answered, maybe for confirmation of something they hadn't talked about in a while. "We were thinking of going there." Amelia didn't comment. They'd thought about it. Amelia hadn't been a fan of moving further north, where they'd have to survive freezing temperatures on top of everything else.

"Supposed to be a big camp up near Michigan."

Amelia hoped a question would distract Kenny or Luke or the both of them before things escalated. She already knew Luke wouldn't be the one to do it. Escalation was one of Kenny's hobbies, and she'd seen plenty of it.

"It's in Michigan?" she said. The messages she'd seen all pointed to Wisconsin. None of them said Michigan. She processed the news that had she and Clem left for Wisconsin they may have ended up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing.

Kenny raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk hiding somewhere beneath the facial hair crowding his face. "You go and get a hearing problem while you were gone? Yeah, fuckin' Michigan."

A pointed and unamused response was on the tip of her tongue but Nick gave one first.

"Back off."

Luke tried to cut in, "Nick-"

"She was just asking a question."

"Relax. If you knew her for more than a week you'd know both these girls are tougher than that."

Nick crossed his arms over the table and leaned in. "What are you trying to say?"

Amelia swung her knee into him a second time, not playfully. Her level of irritation was fast approaching his. She lowered her voice. "Stop."

"Relax," Kenny said again, not at all as calming as when Luke used the word. It didn't ease anyone at the table – in fact it did the opposite.

"No," Nick said; Amelia wasn't sure if it was meant for her or Luke. From the way he was glaring, she decided it was for Kenny. "Just 'cause we don't know you doesn't mean we're all fuckin' strangers."

Kenny laughed again. Harder than he had at his tactless joke about peaches and beans.

"Now _that's_ funny. You don't know the first thing about either one of them."

 _Oh no._

Luke tried again. " _Nick-_ " Amelia knew Nick was going to ignore him before it happened.

 _Oh shit._

"That's what you think."

 _Shit shit shit_

She could see where this was going. The competitive mistrust shooting back and forth between the two of them like a tennis match was headed straight for a train wreck she could see coming. Maybe she was wrong. She eyed the closest breakable thing on the table – Luke's glass, which was real while hers was plastic – and inched her hand toward it flat on the table because she'd have rather been paranoid than right.

"You wanna bet-" Kenny stopped short when the glass hit the table, tipped over into an abrupt _slam_ that filled the dining hall like a gunshot.

They were left in silence.

What was left of Luke's water formed a fast-spreading puddle on the tabletop. Everyone was quiet. Staring at her, but quiet.

Amelia stood. She wasn't about to insult the intelligence of anyone at the table by saying, "oops." Instead, she reached for the glass and tried not to stare for too long at the look Luke was giving her. Not because he seemed upset about the spill – he didn't – but because he, like everyone else, had no explanation for what she just did.

"Let me get that," and got up to leave the table with glass in hand before Luke or anyone else could answer.

Kenny snorted. Again, his words sounded mean to anyone who didn't know better, and this wasn't the place for Amelia or Clementine to explain it. "Nice one, kid."

Nick raised his voice. Not by much, but enough to get the rest of their group at the other table to turn around and look. "I said, _lay off her,_ man."

"Nick-" Amelia hissed. She didn't have time to react to his raised voice before Kenny raised his own.

"Listen, Vanilla Ice, I don't know what your deal is, but you're more than welcome to take off in the morning."

" _Well that'd be just fine by us."_

" _It's fine,_ Nick. We're not staying."

Kenny snorted. His laugh was short. Sharp and bitter. " _Ha._ They're stayin'." He jabbed a rigid finger through the air over the table, pointing at the space between Clementine and Amelia as if they were the people pissing him off.

"They're stayin'."

Luke stuttered. Briefly, but he tripped over his first word all the same. "Wh- 'scuse me?"

"You heard me."

Clementine was willing to try what Amelia wasn't; it didn't work, and Amelia could have told her it wouldn't beforehand. "Please don't fight,"

The yelling had attracted attention from others in the room, including Walter. "Gentlemen, please. There's no need for this." Amelia watched Kenny and Nick carefully, positive that neither of them was about to listen. "Now look, we've all had a long day. Please, eat."

Kenny jabbed a finger at the last can of peaches sitting in the center of the table, half an arm's reach from Clementine.

"Pass me that can, Duck."

Kenny didn't react for a long two-count.

Amelia didn't know her thoughts could stutter until now. Her train of thought didn't stop so much as tip over on the tracks, leaving a crater in the ground and killing everyone inside. Amelia slowly realized what he'd said. Then he did the same.

Awkward silence settled over the room, a snowfall that left everyone cold and uncomfortable.

Maybe it was only her and Clementine who felt it. Luke didn't seem to understand. Neither did Nick.

"Duck? Who's-"

Clementine was quiet, as if she thought she could talk to Luke without Kenny hearing. "Leave him alone, Luke."

Amelia looked when she couldn't purposefully avoid him anymore. Kenny had wilted into the table, having fallen into a slouch that hid his face. She wouldn't have expected anything else after the mistake he'd made. A single misstep onto the landmine he'd been trying to avoid for years.

She wished there was something she could say. But she knew there were no magic words of condolence that could take the pain away. Time was the only bandage, and sometimes even that wasn't enough.

She got up from the table quickly, and took the empty glass with her.

* * *

She'd been lost in thought, and didn't realize it until the glass overflowed and cold water ran over her hand. She took her time reaching for the faucet, watching the water disappear the black drain because it was a distraction she was happy to have. Anything to draw her attention away from the volcanic eruption waiting to happen outside.

The handle squeaked as she shut the water off. She noticed her hand shaking – the water vibrated in ripples running across the surface – and told herself it was because the glass was heavy now that it was full. She raised it and downed half the glass; the room was starting to feel hotter. Stuffy.

Was this her fault?

Maybe.

Yes.

Was it something she could fix?

Yes.

Maybe.

Shit.

She turned around to set the glass on the counter and dry her hands, and realized she'd been preoccupied enough that she didn't notice she'd been followed.

By a very tall, large man in a bright red sweater who'd been making no effort to be quiet.

She made a mental not that she was losing her edge, and needed to start paying more attention. She was getting too comfortable, forgetting to watch her own back. It was asking for another Del to sneak up on her all over again.

She tried to think of something to say to him, and instead went with another drink. Walter was patient enough to wait for her to finish.

"Are they still going at it out there?"

"I'm afraid so."

Amelia nodded. She put the half-empty glass on the counter and placed her palms flat on the kitchen countertops.

"You know, I used to be a teacher. And I remember what it's like to be caught in the middle of two cliques."

"I wish it was that simple."

Walter nodded his agreement. He probably knew better than she did. "I suspect they'll find common ground soon enough. It may take a little time, but that's just how these things work. Everything will be fine."

That was where they disagreed. To Amelia, these conflicts didn't just work themselves out. They grew, and they worsened until something happened. Until someone left, at best. Until someone died, at worst.

But still. The phrase _everything will be fine_ got her to breathe and relax if only a little. True or not, there was something comforting about hearing it from someone other than herself.

"They say the world is over."

Amelia didn't know what to say to that. She'd never heard a single person tell her the world was over. She'd only had countless people show her.

"But I'll tell you a secret: it's not."

She forced herself not to shake her head. She didn't believe that, and didn't know anyone who did. She wanted to think the way Walter did. It probably would have made her happier than she was.

She wasn't about to say that. Being incapable of optimism herself made her appreciate it in others.

"People are more political now than they ever were before. In the end, we can't change the world. All we can do is continue to learn from each other. To empathize and use our heads."

Amelia's first impulse was to dismiss it. Shoot the idea down as an idealistic impossibility. She forced herself not to, and worked the idea over in her head. She tried to think of it as another case of stripping away complexity. Somewhere behind all the reasons the people in this lodge had found to hate each other, they all had at least two things in common. Each of them was alive and each of them wanted to stay that way.

But, somewhere behind even that, in Amelia's own mind…the conflict made as much sense to her as getting along. It wasn't as simple as that, as much as she wanted it to be.

"'All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal.' Steinbeck."

 _You can call it that._ But Amelia had learned a dozen times over that when two people had guns on each other, only one of them had to lack empathy to force the hand of the other. She didn't call it a failure to think so much as a choice that was made for her. To pull her own trigger first. To finish what someone else started when they had no intent of stopping on their own. The brutality was the same every time. Visceral and disturbing and a reminder that the people left in this world – herself included - owned the title 'human' in name only.

It was a failure of compassion, maybe. But not a failure of logic.

She hesitated to call it a failure at all when she wouldn't have lived this long without it.

"You look like something is bothering you," Walter stepped further into the kitchen, closing the distance between them while staying well out of her personal space. She noticed. "There's almost nothing you could tell me that would surprise me." He said sincerely, reminding Amelia that she was either getting worse at hiding her feelings or that she'd never been as good at it as she thought. "Is there something you want to tell me, Amelia?"

 _I have something to tell someone else._

She shook her head, despite the answer being _yes._

She thanked Walter for talking to her; they didn't seem to agree on much, but the effort meant something to her. She didn't know how to tell him that, and so she fell back on the _thank you._ She left the kitchen in a hurry, sweeping the lobby and filtering through the many familiar faces for one in particular. She spotted him, stepping outside onto the front porch.

 _People will never trust you if you don't trust them_.

Amelia walked quickly as she followed him out, as if she could outrun knowing where she heard those words.


	18. Instigator

**AN: Thank you to BHBrowne for reading the early drafts of this chapter for me. Your feedback and support is incredibly helpful to me.**

 **Also thank you to everyone who was patient with me in waiting for this update.**

* * *

"Jesus Christ…Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ…"

Amelia waited.

She hadn't done much to get him out here. She saw him leaving the dining hall alone and beat him to the door. Held it open for him and nodded him out onto the porch without a word. She picked up her gun from the collection on the bench, and closed the door behind the both of them.

She'd been listening to a combination of curses and hopelessness and self-hatred, leaning against the wooden balcony with tense shoulders. Waiting. Watching. Trying not to stare at the stump. Contemplating running like a coward, knowing she wouldn't. He was bound to have questions once he was finished…processing. The least she could do was answer them.

In all of this, she still hadn't surprised herself. No one was better than she was at digging holes and then jumping into them. This one felt particularly deep, and narrow, sitting with a man who'd suffered a massive loss, a man who was angry with her for reasons she could've done something about and chose not to, who'd told her to leave twice now and seemed to want her gone more and more with each moment she sat there in silence.

Right hand on his amputated right knee, Pete finally lifted his head and looked at her. Amelia was grateful that looks didn't carry physical weight. Otherwise she'd have been crushed beneath it.

He seemed to want to talk now. She guessed.

She volunteered to go first because she couldn't take the silence anymore. "I'm going to do it. Soon." She insisted, referencing the last thing she'd told him. She'd started with the short version of what happened in Savannah, leaving out the friends who died and the Stranger who drew her to the Marsh House and how far she walked with his blood on her clothes after. She ended with a promise that was worth nothing even to her. Actions spoke louder than words, and her actions had already made her intentions abundantly clear. _I'm going to tell the others._

"Am I the one you're tryin' to convince?"

No. No he wasn't.

Then again, it wasn't entirely her choice anymore. He could've left this room and told everyone her secret. She'd handed him the power to throw her under the bus and she knew it was because in a way, she wanted him to. _Tell one person and one person tells the rest. Lets you off the hook._ She figured she should start with the person who deserved to know the most.

"You understand why I'm worried about it, right?" she asked carefully.

"You should be." Pete said, reminding her that she could look for common ground all she wanted, but it didn't mean she'd find it. "You think the others are gonna take kindly to learnin' this?"

 _No. I know they won't. Hence, why I didn't tell them._ Amelia bit her tongue, metaphorically and literally. The one way to make this worse on Pete than it already was would've been to throw an attitude at him.

He shook his head again. She watched confusion blend into frustration blend into rage and her inability to help with any of it made her want to punch a hole in the wall. That, or it was the guilt.

Probably the guilt.

She watched, knowing it was coming. She waited out of guilt and morbid anticipation more than patience. Until she saw it.

The crack in the pavement that had appeared beneath his feet when she started talking grew wider and deeper without warning. Amelia almost couldn't watch the way Pete's face changed as the crack stretched into a chasm and caved in. It dropped him into the abyss and left him with nothing, save the heavy realization of the truth and consequences of his own actions.

The only thing worse was the realization that it had been for nothing.

"Oh, God…" he dropped his head into his hand, fingernails sinking deep into his own scalp. "Jesus shit, what did I do…?"

She'd known telling him the truth would do this to him. She hadn't planned on being here to watch.

Then he spoke, unexpected as it was. "How do you know?" She could hear the rationalization in his voice, see the gears turning his his head as he worked through the events of that day. Counting hours, thinking back. The bargaining step, if the five stages of grief included much more anger and no acceptance. "How can you be sure it wasn't…?"

Amelia picked up where he trailed off; she could tell that he wasn't about to finish. "Because the virus kills in twelve hours, give or take. That's how long it took to incapacitate me. And…" She trailed off because _nope nope nope nope not going there._ "…other people. You didn't do what you did until the morning, right?"

Pete didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Almost twenty-four hours. If you were going to turn, you would have done it long before we found you."

She hated saying it. He hated hearing it. Both needed to happen.

She watched Pete, for the third time in this conversation, contemplate the fact that he'd already been in the clear when he mutilated himself to save his own life.

Uncomfortable silence. The kind of silence she'd expect if she were ever lined up in front of a firing squad.

"Look, how were you supposed to know-"

" _Don't._ Do not patronize me."

She couldn't say she'd be reacting any differently if she were him. It left her at a loss of what to say. She went with simple honesty, and the irony wasn't lost on her. "I'm sorry. That's the truth. I really, really am." She shook her head. "I didn't want any of this…" _Go ahead. Turn this on him because you can't take it being about you._ "What would you have done if you were me?"

"I sure as hell wouldn't keep something like this to myself for a damn week."

Fair enough.

Pete's hand tensed over his bad knee. She could see the veins and bones of the back of his hand beneath the skin.

"So, you just…" he paused. She listened. "Kept quiet on this for my sake? Out of concern for me?"

Amelia shook her head again. He knew what the answer was – or should've been – before he even asked. "No. I kept it because I was scared to tell you." If it wasn't reason enough, she hoped it was at least understandable. Pete remembered the circumstances under which she and Clementine met their group as well as she did.

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "Alright. Least you're bein' honest. Now."

"I'm sorry for what you went through." She said quietly. "And you deserved to know sooner. If it means anything, I'm sorry."

If they were done here, she couldn't say this had gone much better or worse than she'd been expecting. She'd already known he was going to agonize over this. Grieve all over again after re-experiencing the worst day of his life. It was going to happen no matter when she told him the truth because a grenade would explode no matter how slowly or gently she pulled the pin.

And the aftermath was no less chaotic, no less ruined.

Then: "Nick never went to college, you know."

 _What?_ She blinked at the sudden change of subject. Looked to her right, then her left in an awkward freeze, as if she'd find an explanation in the trees on the hillside or stapled to the door to the lodge.

She'd never asked him anything about Nick, on this day or any other. She'd wanted to. But what she knew about him – that she hadn't learned for herself – was limited to the story Pete had told her the day after they'd met, about a hunting trip that took place long before whatever had happened to Nick that gave him the trigger finger he had today. She thought that without judgment. She carried an endless list of habits and personality traits she hadn't been born with. She picked them up after the world went to hell.

She wondered if she could still call it a story about Nick, given that the boy in the story and person she knew today were very different people.

"His mom and I wanted him to. Pushed him to go until he was sick of hearin' it. When Luke got into his university, he tried to get Nick to move in with him, take classes at the city college. We just wanted him to study _something._ Even something useless like Luke's degree would've been better'n nothing."

Amelia didn't understand where this was going, but knew better than to interrupt. That, and she wanted to hear.

"I said, 'well, what do you think you're gonna do instead?'"

Amelia took a silent guess. Guns and drinking were the only two hobbies of his she could come up with. If he didn't have any academic interests he probably didn't care about history or science. She realized she didn't even know what kind of business he and Luke had failed to start. She'd never asked.

"He didn't have a damn idea. Just knew he didn't want to be in school. Right out of high school, he got a job, bought himself a used pickup, and moved out. That was that."

Five seconds ticked by in silence while Amelia waited for a point she wasn't about to prompt out of him.

"He's not as educated as you and Luke. But he isn't stupid."

Now it made sense.

Still, she listened. She wasn't dense enough to interrupt Pete Randall on a good day, let alone here and now.

"I say that because you've got a fancy chemistry degree and a Yankee accent you picked up in the city, and you seem to think you're smarter than him."

Despite everything, an insufferable need to correct him jabbed at her insides; the word _biochemistry_ flashed across her brain and she crushed it under her heel. Still, nothing new. Digging holes and jumping into them.

She took a breath to argue, and stopped herself before Pete got the chance. She could tell from his face he wasn't about to let her get a word out if all she planned to do was deny it. Which she did.

He watched her decide against speaking, and went on. "Now maybe you are. Maybe you're not. But you ought to know that it's not as easy to get one over on him as it looks. He's sharp. He already knows you're hiding something. Kid pays more attention to you than he does to the rest of the group."

She thought that over. Did he? She didn't know. She might've known who he paid attention to if she paid any attention to him.

"I see the way you two have been acting around each other. He talks about you."

 _And?_ It took self-control Amelia didn't know she had not to ask what he said. She was caught between wanting to know what Nick had said and wanting to know what Pete thought of the two of them and knowing she wasn't about to hear any of it. Not from Pete, at least.

"I'm not here to pass any judgment on it, but I will tell you if you want it to continue, you need to respect him enough not to lie to him. I won't have you sweepin' shit like this under the rug and thinking he's too dumb to figure it out."

She tried not to break eye contact with his stare, knowing there was no better way than to admit he was right on all counts. She may not have intended it but it was what her actions said all the same. Until Pete lost his leg, and even for some time after, she'd thought she could keep a nuclear bomb of a secret and assumed Nick wouldn't notice it if she hid it behind her back.

Pete fixed her with a glare, one loaded with warning and gravity. "'Cause I sure as shit raised him to treat women right, and if that respect isn't a two-way street, then you're both better off if you leave him alone. Understand?"

She did.

* * *

Amelia closed the door behind her, having left Pete with a silent nod and one last apology. Like that last one made the difference.

Back through the threshold. From cold air and white hills to warm interior colors and Christmas music. _Mark my footsteps good my page, tread thou in them boldly..._ She swept the lobby for Clementine and-

"Oh."

Silence.

"Oh." Sarah repeated Amelia, sounding just as numb as when she'd said it herself.

 _Thou shalt find the winter's rage…freeze thy bones less coldly…_

"I was…looking for you," Sarah kept trailing off, like her vocal cords were stalling midsentence. "People…want to know where you are so I thought you might be…outside again."

Crickets from outside. Even Pete had gone silent.

She stood just outside the doorway, close enough to the door that Amelia doubted the girl was even pretending she hadn't been listening. Maybe because she was too young and genuine to be deceptive, or maybe because she knew she wouldn't fool anyone if she tried.

Amelia threw a glance across the empty lobby and decided it didn't matter what she'd heard. Not anymore. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and moved around Sarah, quickly and quietly, about to leave her to decide whether or not to bother Pete – she really, truly hoped she wouldn't, she hoped that once, _this one time,_ Sarah would choose not to ask obvious questions and know when to stay quiet-

"Is that true?"

The words squeaked out and crawled into Amelia's heart in a way that forced her to stop where she was. She froze, but didn't turn around. Not until she took a long moment to decide what to say.

Then she reminded herself. It didn't matter anymore.

She turned around.

"Yes." She said simply.

Sarah didn't seem to know what to do with that. A bitter, judgmental part of Amelia's mind quipped that, knowing her father, it was probably because she wasn't used to adults telling her the truth. Then she tried to remind herself that she was the last person in the group to judge anyone's parenting skills.

She wrung her hands together. Looked from Amelia's shoes to her own and back to Amelia's. She seemed anxious but Amelia didn't have a cure for it – her own head wouldn't have been such a mess if she did – so she moved to leave again.

"I'm glad…" Sarah stopped, and from the look on her face she seemed to regret what she started to say. She went through with it anyway. "I'm glad you…didn't die."

Amelia nodded. She looked toward the lobby, trying not to break into a full sprint. She could still hear Pete mumbling and cursing outside and she was starting to feel claustrophobic despite the open space.

Sarah stopped her one last time with a question. "Are you…? I mean are you…going to...? I don't know what that means…"

Amelia didn't have answers, and knew that if she did they were unlikely to be good ones. So she gave her the same cop-out she'd given her before.

"Ask your dad." She turned to leave again and-

 _Wait._

A nagging, irked feeling in her gut told her to stop. Something didn't make sense. Like the blanket she'd found draped over her body the morning she woke up in the cabin, something wasn't the same as it had been when she left it. Something important. Like someone had thrown a curved puzzle piece up against a jagged one and tried to convince her that they fit.

Sarah watched her carefully, frozen in her steps just like Amelia was. "Amelia?"

"Something isn't right."

She scanned the lobby again. Across the fireplace and the two-story Christmas tree and the staircase leading up to the indoor balcony overlooking the room. She listened for noises coming from people other than her and Sarah, and heard nothing. Of the twelve people she knew were in the lodge – thirteen if she counted Walter's unnamed partner – not one of them was out here.

Because every single one of them went to bed at the same time. Right.

"What…what do you mean?"

She didn't know. She rarely did. That didn't mean it was nothing.

 _It's not paranoia if I'm right._

She looked again, frustrated because what she needed to know – or knew, but didn't know she knew – was at her fingertips. Inches away from connecting but refusing to, because she wasn't looking at the right thing.

She remembered the last time the answer had been right in front of her and looked straight down at her jacket laid across the bench in the entryway.

Only her jacket. No guns.

They'd been here when she followed Pete outside. Someone did this in the last ten minutes.

She turned to Sarah. "Sarah, where are the guns?"

"Um-" Her first non-word told Amelia that she knew. She saw the girl start to wring her hands, looking anxiously toward the door, and decided she'd have better luck getting an answer with an easier question.

"Sarah," she injected a note of patience into her voice. "Did you see who moved the guns?" Sarah looked like she thought she was in trouble; like Amelia was a disciplinary figure rather than a bad influence who'd shown her firsthand that shooting people is okay.

 _-it is, sometimes-_

As Amelia had hoped, Sarah jumped on the chance to pass the attention to someone else.

"It was Kenny's idea. But Luke came and took them."

"Why would they do that?" Amelia muttered, talking more to herself.

She didn't like this. She didn't like that the weapons that kept their group alive were somewhere she couldn't see them and she didn't like that she hadn't seen her sister in half an hour.

She reached for her own lower back and took her handgun from her waist.

She was quiet, but still the loudest thing in the empty lobby. Her words almost echoed off the high ceilings, bouncing between rafters wrapped in Christmas lights. "Sarah, where did everyone go?"

A door shifting open on the other side of the room. Footsteps. "Where have you been?"

Amelia turned around to meet Luke, coming to a stop in front of the both of them. Rapid fire questions flashed in front of her eyes and she settled on one.

"Luke, what's going on?"

Luke ignored her, and Amelia wondered if it was intentional. "Here, let me get that for you," he reached for the gun hanging at her side. She turned so she held it on the other side of her body, watching him carefully as if staring at him hard enough would explain his actions.

"Why?"

"I'll just, uh, put it away," he put a hand out for the gun, and when she didn't offer it he reached for it, covering it up with fake nonchalance that might have fooled someone who wasn't as paranoid as she was. She pulled it back, holding it up by her shoulder and just out of his reach. She frowned at him, and waited.

Luke looked from her face to her gun and back again. He sighed. "We moved 'em all…upstairs. Kenny asked."

A pause. Amelia waited, getting more agitated with each second Luke refused to tell her what was going on.

"Any reason?" She asked, in disbelief that she had to prompt answers out of him.

"No, just- let me put that with the others for you," he reached again, this time stepping close enough to grab it even if she moved it. She matched his step forward with a step back, more convinced with each attempt to confiscate it that her gun shouldn't be anywhere but in her hands.

"Is someone here?"

"No," he said quickly. His second thoughts were clear on his face. "Well- yeah, but, you should talk to-"

Amelia blinked through her shock. Someone had found them. But he didn't seem alarmed and she couldn't tell why. "Luke, just _tell me_ if there's a problem." She didn't bother to use a name; they both knew why. "Is he here?"

If Luke was telling her the truth and someone had found them, she didn't understand why he'd hid the guns instead of passing them out. She couldn't guess why everyone was missing - or had they already cleared out? And Luke stayed behind to wait for her and Pete since they'd been out of the building when it happened?

All of this would have had to happen in the last ten minutes. She was doubtful.

" _Luke._ " She pried when he hesitated to answer.

"It's fine, Amelia, I promise," he said, looking over his shoulder again. Amelia followed his glance and realized he'd been looking to the door to the dining room. He nodded to Sarah, who still stood behind Amelia, wringing her hands. "Sarah, why don't you go find your dad? He's lookin' for you,"

Sarah was on her way before he finished. He turned to call after her, "Don't go wanderin' off anymore, alright?" She'd already disappeared into the dining room.

Amelia gave him a light push to the shoulder to pull his attention back to her. "Luke, who's here? Do we need to-"

"Not Carver, alright? It's not him."

 _Oh._

Then why didn't this settle the creeping feeling in her stomach.

"Look, we have a…situation," he hesitated to give it a name and Amelia wondered why. It was usually a word people used to replace _problem_ or _catastrophe_ or _clusterfuck._ "Just wait for Kenny, alright? He's, uh…" He looked directly at her. "He needs to talk to you."

 _Just me._ Amelia thought. _Tell me this doesn't have anything to do with Clementine._ "Did someone get hurt?"

"No, no," he shook his head. "Nothing like that, just…look, just trust me, alright? Wait here until Kenny gets back…" He looked again at the door. Faster this time. More impatient. "I don't know what's takin' him so long…"

Amelia tried to wait. She lasted about three seconds before she shouldered past Luke and went for the dining room.

"Amelia!" He walked faster than she did, covering enough ground to pass her and block her way. "Amelia, _stop_ -"

"I just need to see Clem,"

"She's fine. Do you trust me? I'm telling you _she's fine,_ "

"Then why aren't you being straight with me?" She stopped like he asked, just outside the door. She put her gun back in her waist and waited, giving him a chance. She decided on a five-count. Five seconds to let her out of the dark before she found the way out herself.

Instead, he crossed his arms. "I can't let you go in there."

Amelia knew a bluff when she heard it. It might have carried more weight from someone else. Anyone else.

She inched around him and put both hands on the swinging double doors. She threw them open while Luke said something behind her, something that sounded like,

"Hey, listen to me, you don't know what's-"

Kenny was in the doorway, seconds after the doors swung open. She looked past him, sweeping over the empty tables looking for Clementine. He blocked too much of her view for Amelia to find her – he gripped her shoulders and moved with her every time she tried to side-step him – but she could see others. She spotted Rebecca and Alvin across the room. She saw Carlos and Sarah just as they were leaving.

No, not leaving. Carlos was leading her out of the room. Pushing her out, almost. They were in a hurry.

"Kenny-" she pushed him, not hard but not gently. He didn't move. "Kenny, I swear to God if you don't-" She stopped when she tried to push him again. The man was made of iron when he wanted to be.

"I gave you _one job_ , kid," Kenny sniped, his words sharp. Amelia was used to this tone. She'd heard it so many times before it took her a moment to realize she had no idea what he was talking about, and that he was speaking to Luke.

He stopped behind her, following her closely into the room. Immediately, he was defensive. "Hey, don't put this on me. I tried-"

"I asked for five goddamn minutes!"

" _What was I supposed to do?_ " Luke snapped again, the second time she'd ever seen him do it. She felt her hopes that the two groups would stay together after tonight fade a little more. She doubted even Luke could get along with someone who touched nerves as adeptly as Kenny-

Weight and cold metal disappeared from her lower back as gun was pulled from her waist. She whirled, outraged but not surprised. "You're kidding," Luke didn't say a word, and tucked her gun into the empty holster at his hip. "Luke-"

Kenny glared. " _You didn't take her gun? Jesus-_ "

"- _I just did, alright? Relax-_ "

"- _shit, kid, are you that stupid?_ "

" _Kenny,_ " Amelia interrupted, as tired of the fighting as she was of being talked about like she wasn't in the room.

Finally, he acknowledged her, hands still in a solid grip on her shoulders, keeping her back every time she tried to shove her way into the room. "Amelia, we need to talk,"

" _About what?_ " Amelia had to force herself not to yell. An impending sense of danger had long torn through her reserve of patience. She didn't have any left. "Kenny, _what is going on?_ "

 _What have you been hiding from me since dinner?_

"You need to let me explain before you come in,"

 _Oh, God._ It was Clementine. Kenny was trying to brace her to see the aftermath of an accident. A walker that got past the boarded windows and surprised Clem in a hallway, maybe. The need to see what Kenny wasn't letting her see burned almost as painfully as the need to be wrong.

"Clementine?" she called past him, hoping for an answer to crush this nightmare of a fear before it grew into something terrible.

Kenny's voice was soft. Night and day when compared to the way he talked to Luke. "Amelia, just-"

Signs of sympathy alarmed her even more.

"Clementine! Answer me-"

Clem ducked under one of Kenny's arms before Amelia could finish and say _please._ Her hat dipped down and back up as she popped up between the two of them. Amelia released an audible sigh she hadn't known she was holding in.

"Amelia, it's okay," she said. She reached for Amelia's hand. Clementine's palm was damp with sweat.

She looked between her sister and Kenny, over her shoulder to Luke.

 _Then what the hell was this about?_

She shook her head, at a loss. She stood there, holding her sister's hand and waiting for an explanation.

And then, a voice that was both new and very old. Amelia had jumped the gun in thinking she'd never hear it again.

"Kenny, just let her in."

She didn't just hear that. She'd been right, she was losing it. She'd graduated from nightmares to waking hallucinations because there was no way she'd just heard the voice she thought she heard.

Kenny seemed unsure, and she was sure the look on her face wasn't doing anything to help. But he stepped aside.

The ponytail was new. She still had the same taste in tank tops, and black.

Of all things, Amelia's first thought was this, absent and slow.

 _Huh. We're a match._

A hundred things to say, all caught in an emotional bottleneck so not one of them could get out.

The building pressure was maddening.

Her mind was frozen and so her body was too, motionless and lost. Amelia searched her own mind for an idea of what to do next and got a ringing in her ear. Static from a dead radio, rushing water, waves crashing on a beach with no words to be found in the midst of the white noise.

Kenny stepped into her view, hands out and gripping her shoulders. He was directly in front of her so that Amelia couldn't see behind him. It didn't matter; she still knew she was there. Leaning against one of the long dining room tables, not ten feet from her. She still knew she was inside this lodge, which was the same as being inside her heart and inside her head and Amelia needed her _out._ Out of her life. Off the face of the earth, if Amelia could help it.

"Amelia," Kenny said, in the tone of someone trying to keep her calm. "Just talk to me, alright…"

Kenny's voice faded out like someone had put him on mute. She knew he was still talking but she didn't hear a word.

She could hear a single gunshot. The sound of a body hitting the ground blending together with flashes of a purple winter coat and lots and lots of blood-

But no words from Kenny. Just strong hands gripping her shoulders harder with each attempt to push him aside. Holding her in place while Amelia tried to convince herself she was finally seeing things. She'd always been horrified that her worst dreams and fears might bleed into her waking moments, had always been afraid of what would happen to her should that day ever come. Now she'd give anything for it.

She almost asked Kenny. _Is she real?_

But she knew. The others could see her too. Everyone she knew was watching her, looking back and forth between her and Amelia and Kenny and Clementine, waiting while braced for disaster. Luke and Carlos and Nick and Alvin and Rebecca and Pete and Sarita and Walter, all watching Amelia like she was a lit match in a room full of fireworks.

It wasn't real. She tried again like she could make it true. This was just another nightmare, conjured up by that twisted part of her mind that wanted her to suffer. She would wake up drenched in tears and sweat any second now. It wouldn't be the first time. She would wander the lodge, silent and dark since everyone else had gone to bed, until she found Nick, who knew how to comfort her without prying. She'd crawl into his bed without caring how it looked, and hope he would let her stay. She wanted to be somewhere quiet and warm, where she could feel a beating heart other than her own and the closest thing to a monster in in the room was her.

Kenny said her name again, drawing her attention back to him.

 _You lied to me._

He went on to tell her something along the lines of _everything is fine, let's all just have a talk_ just like he'd said at dinner. But it wasn't true then, either.

 _You said it was going to be okay. In what world is this okay-_

"-just listen to me, alright…?"

Crossed arms and _listen, Amelia. I don't want to hear anymore excuses. You need to learn to shoot and you're going to do it today._

Hand on her shoulder and _listen, we're going to check it out. If they can trade us food, we don't really have a choice._

Chest compressions and _damn it, Amelia, I need you! Please help me!_

And in a sudden moment of silence and clarity, the moment Amelia decided to listen, when she thought it couldn't get worse…

She spoke to her.

She had the _nerve_ to look Amelia in the eyes and speak to her.

And the sound of her voice – a voice she hated more than anything she'd ever heard in her life, more than _hello Amelia_ and more than _it's how the world works now_ and more than _whaddya say Amy_ – was the catalyst that shocked her out of her frenzy of toxic thoughts. She knew what to do the moment she heard it. She wasn't retreating into her head anymore. She was here, present in a room that had one too many people with a knife-jab of a thought in her mind _her or me, one of us has to go._

"Amelia, calm down and-"

Amelia let her backpack fall from her shoulder, catching the strap in the bend of her elbow as it dropped and letting it slide down into her hand. She held it up against her own body, gripping the bag with both hands until her knuckles went white.

"-just talk to me."

There was a silent five-count where no one spoke, standing rigid with the kind of tension that would suggest there was a bomb in the room, ready to be detonated by the first person to move.

Lilly sighed. She looked as happy to be here as Amelia was to have her. Amelia didn't notice much else about her. Looking at her face only forced her to recall, to feel too hard and too quickly how much she hated everything about it. "I know this is…" she paused and tried again. "I know this isn't-"

Amelia hurled her backpack at her head with a full-armed overhand swing. It wasn't heavy – there wasn't much in it – but it did the job. She reacted as quickly as Amelia expected her to, arms up to catch it before it hit her in the face but by then Amelia had already reached her legs, which she'd left wide open. Amelia closed the short gap between them in a rushed and furious charge, throwing her arms around her lower body and putting her full weight into taking the both of them down.

Familiar voices in her ears. Luke's. Clementine's. Nick's. Kenny's. All of them overlapping, arguing, yelling.

"-woah, woah, Kenny, _what the hell-_ "

"-Kenny, _make them stop!_ "

Lilly hit the floor first, shoulder blades slamming flat on the hardwood while Amelia landed tangled in her legs. She heard the fall knock the wind straight out of Lilly's chest – she'd fallen like that herself enough times to know the sound, and knew Lilly would need a few seconds to be able to breathe again – and took advantage of it, clawing her way toward her head and swinging one leg over to sit on her stomach.

"-don't get in the middle of it-"

"-someone's gonna get hurt!-"

Higher would have been better – the only thing that trapped a person harder than pinning them at the stomach was pinning them at the chest – Lilly knew this, and forced Amelia back with gritted teeth and a forearm pressed across her throat.

"-these two need to work things out-"

"Kenny!"

Amelia tried to pin her arms down under her knees; Lilly was fighting her hard enough that she only trapped one. Lilly was stronger than her – always had been – and if she kept struggling like this Amelia knew as well as Lilly did the woman would throw her off-

-and she'd want to be anyone but herself when that happened-

-so she started swinging while she still had leverage. She raised a fist and drove it into her face once-

 _-think you're some tough bitch-_

-twice-

 _-like no one can hurt you-_

-three times-

 _-but you're just a scared little girl-_

-four times until a gob of blood flew from Lilly's mouth, hitting the floor and staining Amelia's knuckles bright red. Amelia barely saw through her own tears; if her eyes had been clear she may have seen the fist coming-

 _BAM_ straight into her throat with Lilly's free hand. Amelia sat up before she could think, leaning back on Lilly's hips to cough and inhale a ragged breath before she remembered that she was in the perfect position for Lilly to-

The world upended beneath her and turned sideways around her as Lilly threw her off, not accidentally, not messily. It was quick. Practiced. A clean turnover meant to put Amelia on her back and Lilly on her feet. Amelia was on the floor before she realized what was happening, and was still on her knees when Lilly was already standing. Amelia glared up at the woman stood over her, furious and bleeding, bruises Amelia had left around her eye and the left side of her face already starting to show. Lilly could hurt her from here, easily.

Amelia regretted nothing.

Lilly raised her right fist and clocked Amelia once in the head. Amelia squeezed her eyes shut just before it made contact; when the world was dark, she felt the blows, _one-two_ one after another. Lilly's fist hitting her head and her head hitting the floor. She didn't move for a moment, aware that something wet and warm was seeping out onto the floor beneath her face.

Clementine's voice was louder than the others. " _Kenny! Stop her!_ "

Amelia expected more, pressing her palms flat and pushing up, peeling her face off of the hardwood. Walter said something, some long sentence about something all she heard was _please_ in a genuine, pleading tone. On all fours, Amelia lifted her head. She stared down at the blood smeared across the wood paneling. Watched one, two, three more drops fall from her own forehead one by one and though her thoughts were fuzzy and incoherent they went something along the lines of _I just got these re-stitched, fucking bitch-_

Lilly seemed finished. Breathing heavily, she turned her head over one shoulder and spit another mouthful of blood onto the floor behind her.

Amelia could hear Kenny addressing Clementine. "If they don't work this out now, they'll do it later when no one's around!"

 _He's right,_ Amelia thought, pushing herself onto her knees. She wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, dragging a red stain down the back of her forearm, becoming more motivated with each searing throb of her head to to make Lilly feel the same. If others got in the way, she'd wait until there was no one to stop her.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, the echo of Lilly's strike to her head pounding away inside her skull in time with her heartbeat-

- _bam bam bam bam-_

-and noticed she wasn't far from her legs. And her back was turned. Amelia planted one hand on the floor-

"Jesus…" Kenny turned to Lilly, hands up, his tone suddenly sharp. "Damn it, Lilly, you said you'd go easy if it came to this!"

"And you said you would talk to her so this wouldn't happen," Lilly scowled, arms crossed. "I guess we're both-"

-and stabbed a foot out and caught her in the knee. She'd been trying to kick it out of place, shatter it if she could, but she settled for putting Lilly on the floor again. She wasn't caught by surprise this time, and even though the pain made her cry out and swear when she dropped she landed on a shoulder this time and rolled.

Amelia stood up fast. She ignored the white noise of "- _stay outta this-_ " and " _get of of my way-_ " and "- _Amelia that's enough-_ " and "- _stop them before they get hurt even-_ ", catching Lilly before she had a chance to get up and sending a shameless, spiteful kick straight into her ribs.

- _scared little girl-_

She wound up for another one, because she wasn't deterred even a little bit by the way Lilly seethed through gritted teeth to stop herself from screaming, but someone came up behind her. A hand closed around her wrist and an arm wrapped around her waist. She knew who it was by the voice, by the way he said her name and told her "This has to stop, _now._ " The way he spoke gently and smiled often and told bad jokes had made her forget that he was strong enough to lift her off the floor; he picked her up, turned her away from Lilly, and set her down kicking now that he stood between them. She pressed her hands against his forearms and pushed until he let her go, breaking out of his grip and turning on him.

" _Enough_ ," Luke spoke before she could, his face dark and his voice stone hard in a way she'd never heard before. "No more, Amelia. She's had _enough._ "

"Stay out of this, Luke," she warned him, shaking her head. She wasn't afraid of him and she wasn't afraid of the woman on the ground. Not anymore. "If you care about me at all, _in any way,_ you'll stop protecting her."

" _Look at her_." Luke pointed to Lilly as she held a hand to her side, slowly pushing herself up onto her feet. Like the sight was supposed to make her feel something other than malice and rage. There was a change in his voice, to those who were close enough to hear it. "Look at you."

"What happened to 'I'm your friend?'"

"I am, and that's why I'm not lettin' you do this,"

 _You don't understand._ Hot rage burned in her throat. A dull, deep pain throbbed behind her broken stitches like someone had shot her in the forehead with a nail gun. More than that, she couldn't take the misunderstanding. The idea that Luke or any one of her friends saw Lilly as the victim just because she looked like one now made her want to bite through her own tongue.

Her hands shook, burning with an incessant buzzing in her fingers that could only be satiated by closing them around Lilly's neck and choking the life out of her. It would make them both murderers-

- _not that she wasn't already-_

-but she was more than willing to live with it.

Amelia spoke quietly. "You don't know what she did."

"I do. We all do."

The five words shocked her into a blank pause. He knew. For just a second, she ignored Lilly – forgot she was there completely – and looked past her, past Luke, looking for some trace of confusion in any one of their faces. She braced against the nearest table, turning around to sweep across the everyone watching and saw that they knew. Kenny had told them while she was out and Lilly was still allowed to be here. Her friends-

- _even Clementine-_

-had agreed to ambush her in the dining room when Kenny had hidden this from her all night-

A hand was on the back of her head, wrenching a handful of her hair and forcing her to bend facedown onto the table. Her left arm was twisted behind her back and held there by the wrist, high enough that her fingertips nearly brushed the back of her own head.

" _Hey-!_ " Luke stepped in with a hand on Lilly's shoulder, trying to pull her back. Amelia didn't need to see it to be able to tell him Lilly wasn't about to be moved.

"She's done. Right?" Lilly said, her voice dripping with warning and venom and _go ahead,_ _push me again._ She leaned in, slowly adding pressure to the back of Amelia's neck with one hand and twisting her locked arm with the other. " _Right, Amelia?_ "

Cheek flat on the table, Amelia breathed hard but remained silent. She recognized Nick from the ribs down, spotting the bottom half of his Chasers shirt when he came to a stop on the other side of the table.

"You're hurting her. _Let her go,_ "

"I'd be happy to let go," Lilly said, her words clipped and angry, purposefully measured out in the manner of someone trying to stay calm. "Once she tells me _she's done,_ "

Amelia closed her free hand into a fist. Useless in this position, except to have something to squeeze as the pain became unbearable. Lilly didn't have the patience to wait for a submission when she could crush it out of her. She pushed harder, twisted further, until the tension in Amelia's shoulder made a gradual rise that had her gritting her teeth. She'd scream listening to her shoulder snap sooner than she'd tell Lilly she won. She'd rather lay here bleeding onto the same table at which Kenny had successfully created the most awkward dinner she'd ever had, the same table where-

- _"Pass me that can, Duck,"_ -

-and before she knew what she was doing she reached out for Luke's glass, solid, heavy, real glass and threw its contents over her shoulder. Immediately the pressure was gone. Lilly's hands disappeared and Amelia felt her flinch in shock and take a step back. She was still wiping at her face and spitting water, eyes closed, and didn't see when Amelia turned around, glass in hand, and smashed it into the side of her head. It cracked on impact with her skull and fell in large jagged pieces at her feet.

Lilly stumbled but didn't fall, as stunned as she was, she kept on her feet and, wiping the blood and water from her eyes she turned back to take a fast but disoriented swing; Amelia leaned back just enough that it whiffed just in front of her face.

Amelia watched the blood loss catch up to her, watched Lilly's face change as the adrenaline gave way and finally let her feel the glass shards in her temple. She staggered back a single step, then another, one hand out to signal a momentary time-out as if Amelia would listen. Amelia knew she wasn't the one with glass in her head because she'd fought dirty. Teeth and fingernails, feeling around for a golf club in the weeds. Now wasn't the time to ask her to show sportsmanship.

"Damn it, Amelia," she seethed, her voice rough and her glare hot. Blood ran down the side of her face in streaks; Amelia had made the mirroring half of Lilly's face as blood-streaked as her own. "This is your last chance." She stood upright and whipped her hand toward the ground, flinging red onto the floor. Her voice shook, just a little to those who were listening carefully. "Stop this before I _hurt you_."

"You already did."

Amelia didn't know whether she'd hurt Lilly enough to even their odds. She didn't care. One outcome or another, the two of them were ending this now.

She made it no further than two steps before their small crowd of spectators closed in. Bodies immediately filled the empty space between her and Lilly. Luke's. Kenny's.

"No-" she felt Nick stop behind her, a hand on her shoulder more to remind her that he was there than to control her. Amelia tensed at the touch and had to fight the urge to turn around and swing on him; it wasn't until then that she realized the people trying to calm her down had a point. Focused rage served a purpose. It was when her violence became indiscriminate that she scared herself as much as she was scaring others. "No…no, _no-_ " She lurched forward, forcing Nick to catch her by the arms, holding her above the elbows. "- _we're not done here!_ "

She watched Luke take Lilly out of the room, helping her along with caring and gentle hands the woman didn't deserve while Kenny blocked her from coming toward either one of them. He was an oak tree in her path; no amount of uncontainable rage would rip his roots from the ground.

"You are now."

She dragged her arms out of Nick's grip, contemplating fighting each and every person who stood in her way because she had a special kind of fury pulsing through her veins, one that didn't listen to reason or think of consequences, one that could only be brought on by a special kind of pain. A specific, intimate, life-ruining pain that came from feeling love for another human being and then having it ripped from her heart without anesthesia.

Everyone here had felt it. If any one of them could come face to face with the person responsible and do anything different, she'd believe it when she saw it.

She had more arguments to give. More words to throw like knives and more energy to fight her way through the crowd of people trying to protect her least favorite-

 _-living-_

-person. Her heartbeat pounded away at the insides of her ribcage. She swore it was pushing more and more blood from the open stitches in her forehead from the way she was getting lightheaded.

"No-" She took a step that was much further to the right than it was supposed to be. The ground felt uneven. Suddenly her balance was wrong. Her knees couldn't hold her up this way and they buckled. Nick caught her and didn't let her go even after he set her upright again. Whether arms were wrapped around her either as support or as restraints. She couldn't tell. "Nick, let me-"

Walter was coming toward her from a direction she didn't expect him to be in. He approached her from the front, hands out, while the ground seemed to swing back and forth under her feet.

"Amelia, remember? 'All war is a symptom of man's failure as a thinking animal.' You're not thinking."

"Get…" she closed her eyes, waited for the whirlpool in her head to stop, and tried again. "Get out of my way, Walter."

"You can do so much better than this, Amelia. You might feel like you don't have a choice right now but you do."

A high-pitched ringing in her ear. She noticed for the first time it was on the same side of her head as the blood. She almost couldn't hear herself over it.

"I made my choice…"

She didn't mean to yell.

Had she yelled?

"No, you haven't. Not yet. It's not too late. Let's talk about this. You're too smart for senseless violence." His words made sense but they were drowned out, smothered by the throbbing in her skull. She didn't listen and didn't look like she was listening, but that didn't stop him. "You don't need it. Just come with me and we'll all come back talk about this. No one has to get hurt. Don't you think enough pain has been caused already?"

 _Yes, and no._

 _Yes._

* * *

Amelia hurled another chair across the room, overhand.

She passed up the metal folding chairs propped in the corner in favor of one made of solid wood, gripping it under the backrest and hoping she'd break something valuable.

It made a deep, jagged hole in the drywall before crashing to the floor, shattering the glass casings of hung photographs. Frames fell from their hooks, landing in a shiny bed of broken glass and fractured plaster.

Walter had escorted her – a word she preferred for _forced_ and _quarantined_ – to an empty room down the hall almost twenty minutes ago.

 _"You did the right thing, Amelia. I know it wasn't easy."_

 _She only shook her head, stepping into the room and knowing from the way he lingered in the doorway that he wasn't about to stick around. Kind words or none, she knew she was being put on a time-out. If there had been a lock on the outside of the door she wouldn't have put it past him to use it._

 _"I'm sure you don't feel that way at the moment. But I'm proud of you." He still sounded like he meant it. He couldn't have meant it, not while she stood there with blue and purple knuckles and Lilly was in the other room having a doctor pick glass out of her scalp._

 _Still, he was convincing anyway. She didn't bother to tell him Lilly wasn't forgiven, that Lilly was as guaranteed to die unforgiven for the lives she took as she was._

He'd left her with a promise to come back that she was sure wasn't empty at the time, but suspected it was now. Boredom and rage were not a good combination, she'd learned today.

She was tired of pacing. Tired of waiting for someone to come interact with her, tell her something to keep her from going crazy-

 _-too late-_

-in here. She wanted it to be Clementine but by now she'd settle for anyone.

 _This was a mistake. This was always a mistake._ She asked herself which part she meant. Which decision in her long list of decisions over the past week was the mistake. Or rather, which was the biggest one?

The door opened behind her and she whirled at the sound of hinges creaking. Nick took in the broken remains of the chairs, the hole in the wall, the broken glass, and he nodded slowly. He didn't show any judgment on his face. Like this wasn't out of the ordinary for his life any more than it was for hers. He held a first aid kit by the plastic handle, looking like he was holding a tiny, fire-truck-red briefcase.

Amelia braced against the table, the only thing in the room she hadn't thrown only because she didn't have the upper body strength to deadlift it over her head. She tried not to sound as out of breath as she was.

"Here to tell me to calm down?" _Because I'm not there yet. Come back tomorrow._

Nick looked down at a wooden chair turned over by his feet, covered in a layer of plaster dust after Amelia put it through the wall. He left a handprint in it as he picked it up, set it on four legs, and slid it across the room. It came to a gentle stop just in front of her.

She eyed him carefully, searching his face and his body language for some kind of catch, even knowing there wasn't one. There never was with him.

She grabbed it one-handed, the dust fine and smooth under her fingertips, and heaved it as she turned around, aiming for the last set of pictures she'd yet to break and knock off the wall. She got most of them, cracking their frames and sending them down onto the hardwood to join the pile of garbage she'd turned them into. It wasn't even a little bit satisfying.

After the last shard of glass hit the floor and the room fell silent, he nodded toward the table. "Come here. Take a break."

She didn't move at first, wondering what he'd do if she told him _no._ If she jabbed the word at him, razor sharp and laced with the kind of challenge that usually ends in a fight. Verbal or physical, she wouldn't care.

She considered it. Then walked over to join him by the table. She took her time doing it.

Nick already had the first aid kit open on the tabletop. She didn't get the chance to speak before his hands found her waist and lifted, giving her a gentle boost that was as quick as it was unexpected. She settled onto the tabletop, her legs hanging over the edge and her toes off of the floor.

He went back into the kit and passed her a hand towel. It was wet to the touch. She pressed it to her face and dragged down from her forehead, doing what she could without a mirror.

She fought the urge to ask him why he was here.

Nick tore open the paper envelope of a gauze pad and left it open on the table. He took the towel from her – she didn't give to him when he tugged at it. He shot her a look and waited until she let it go – and dabbed it lightly around the split in her head.

"She, uh…fucked you up pretty good…"

" _I know._ " Amelia said shortly. "I was there."

"Hey. I'm not the one you're mad at, alright?" He gave her another look. One less forgiving this time. "If you're still hot, then do what you have to do. But I'm not your punching bag."

No one moved. Nick held the blood-stained towel and watched her carefully, maybe waiting for her to make it worse. She was sure he didn't want that. But he might have been expecting it. There were a dozen things she could have said to drive him away. Half of them, she wanted to say just for the sake of arguing to argue. But when the fight was over, when there was no more yelling or heat or banter to distract her, he would leave.

She didn't want that.

She broke eye contact by looking down and nodded her understanding. Almost immediately he went back to tending her head wound.

She tried not to wince each time Nick pressed the towel into her skin and only succeeded half of the time.

"Looks like…" Nick peered closely, frowning the way people did when they were trying to read small print. Amelia hadn't expected him to be this comfortable around this much bleeding. "Two are broken. Could be worse."

Amelia stared straight ahead, looking over his T-shirt for a band she'd never heard of in her life while he dug his fingernail into a roll of tape, trying to peel up the end.

"You didn't try to stop me." Amelia pointed out, not sure what kind of response she was expecting.

Nick shook his head, looking like he was considering his answer carefully. "…not until you started losing." He looked up from the tape, looking for a smile without finding one. "Too soon?"

Amelia didn't answer, pushed into silence not by the joke but by Nick's actions and what they meant. The freedom to make her own decision, as bad of a decision as it was, was something no one else in the room had been willing to give her. The choice was hers. As was the consequence. Nick seemed to understand that in a way Kenny, Luke, even Walter, didn't.

She felt herself stirring uncomfortably while he slipped the gauze under her bangs and pressed it there. She found herself speaking even though she had nothing to say.

"Um…" she trailed off while he stuck tape onto the bandage, pressing the edges down carefully. "…"

"You don't have to fill the silence," he said, with a patience that was unlike him.

Was it unlike him?

She'd never seen him as patient. But then she'd never looked past the habits he'd built up on the surface, the qualities she knew were there because she'd done the same herself. The defensiveness, the quick temper, the snap judgments. They were the first thing anyone saw because he'd been shaped that way. They were all anyone ever cared to see, if they did what they were meant to do and pushed others away.

There was patience, somewhere underneath it all. Kindness. A sense of humor and a need to take care of others. She'd seen it. She was sure he used to wear them openly, and one day he stopped when the price became too high.

Nick started talking when she hadn't been expecting him to. "I like that about you. You're not…freaked out by silence. I don't know many people who…" He trailed off, maybe thinking he was sharing too much. "Can you imagine if Luke had to sit still and be quiet for five minutes?"

Amelia almost laughed. She didn't quite make it. It didn't stop Nick from grinning, even though it was small and short.

Amelia could see these parts of him more easily now. It just took time to learn when they could be seen. The way he smiled when he talked about people who were important to him. The way he volunteered to do nice things for those people once he trusted them.

She remembered the secret she'd been carrying, and wondered if she would earn or shatter that trust when he learned it. Two people know. It was on its way to him, one way or another.

She couldn't tell if he trusted her. She knew he wouldn't if he heard it from someone else.

"Nick, I-"

The door opened, the hinges creaking loudly and telling them they were no longer alone.

"Vanilla Ice. Take a walk." Kenny came into the room. He stopped short, taking in the ruins of what had once been the furniture in this room. If it surprised him, it didn't do it for long. He faced the two of them and waited with crossed arms.

"I'm good here, thanks." He started putting the pieces of the first aid kit back in the case, fidgeting with the gauze, tape, objects she knew he didn't care about just keep his hands busy.

Amelia had done the same many times, trying to ignore things that irked her. She watched him turn back to her and purposefully try to ignore him. Then she watched the irritation etch across his face when Kenny came into the room anyway and insisted again.

He brought a hand down hard on Nick's shoulder. Amelia almost jumped just watching.

Nick didn't.

"I said, take a walk."

Nick brushed Kenny's hand off of his shoulder, no gentler than Kenny had been when he put it there. "I heard you. I'm not going anywhere."

Amelia could see she'd worn Kenny's patience as thin as he'd worn Nick's. Remorse prodded at her, not for the fight she started or for the bruises she gave Lilly or even for the ones Lilly gave her, but for the consequences of her choices. She hadn't set out to make Kenny's life any harder than it already was. She remembered that, even through the anger simmering just below the surface, about to be brought to a boiling point if she had to wait any longer for Kenny to explain himself.

She sighed. "Give us a minute," she told Nick quietly. Her eyes and her words were sharper when she slid a glance to Kenny. "Kenny and I need to talk."

From the way Nick faced him she would have thought Nick was talking to Kenny, not her. "Yeah, the same kind of talk you had with Lilly?"

"I hope you're not implying what I think you are."

"What if I am?" Nick didn't move. If anything, he inched closer to her. "After this, why should any of us trust you?"

"I've never raised a hand to her. Never will. But you…we're comin' up on that real quick."

" _Kenny. Stop._ " Amelia warned. She didn't have time for this. She knew she didn't have any ground to stand on and talk about avoiding fights. "Nick, please go. You know we need to talk."

This got him to turn around and look at her, searching her face like he was trying to tell if she was joking. "Why can't I be here?" Amelia was quiet. She knew there was no answer she could give that he would agree with. Not even the truth. His face changed. The surprise melted down into the pessimism she knew and expected from him. "You're really telling me to leave?"

"For now."

They'd already had this fight. He thought she would back him up and she didn't. Like last time, she hoped they would go back to talking soon. Finally:

"Whatever." He shook his head and went for the door.

Kenny called after him. By now, Amelia knew what it sounded like when Kenny was doing nothing more than trying to push buttons. "Close the door on your way out."

He did. Not a second after it was closed, Amelia started. "I hope you have one hell of an explanation."

Kenny didn't answer right away. He turned and paced a few steps into the room. Then came back.

"You gotta understand…" Kenny trailed off, and paused long enough for Amelia to know he was reconsidering what he was about to say. He sighed. Then, finally: "When I left Savannah I knew both you girls were dead."

Amelia didn't answer. She shook her head. She should have known he thought that. Should have realized it when she found out he wasn't dead. Of course Kenny would have assumed her and her sister to be dead at the ages of twenty-one and nine. _Nine._ She'd thought the same of him. And so she'd never imagined him grieving for them. Even after she'd learned he was alive, it didn't occur to her until she saw it.

"Everyone was gone." He said quietly. "That made…three kids I was supposed to look out for..."

She knew what he was reliving. Isolation and grief and survivor's guilt were languages they both spoke fluently. Hearing it in Kenny's voice dragged up her own, and she forced it back down. Kicked at it with a merciless heel until it retreated into the depths of repression where it belonged. She'd barely been able to handle it when it had been recent. Now was no different.

She understood this part. She didn't understand what came after.

"I know. So…" she took a breath, forcibly calming her own voice. "…how could you trust her when she helped tear everything apart?"

He didn't answer. He was somewhere else. Somewhere Amelia had visited many times; enough times to know not to shock someone out of that place. He had to come back on his own, and it was better not to force it.

"Thinkin' about Clementine was the worst. I wanted you to find her, Amelia, I did. But you were sick. I just…I fuckin' knew that bastard still had her and…" Amelia watched the change in his face as he came back. Pulled himself out when the waters got too cold and too dark. Stepping back into bad memories had to be done in moderation. Going in too deep and staying too long had…consequences. "And I couldn't do a damn thing to find her."

She wasn't a stranger to this. There was nothing he'd described that she hadn't felt that morning she found Clementine's hat on the sidewalk. Getting bitten, getting a death sentence that guaranteed she only had a day left had only made the turmoil in her head worse. She became a time bomb – and she wanted nothing more than to find the Stranger and make sure she took him with her when she detonated.

She wondered if it would make Kenny feel any better to know what she did to him when she found him. That she tried to kill him with her hands and with some help from her sister, left him in a shallow grave-

 _-closet-_

-after repainting the walls with the contents of his skull.

Something about the way his shoulders sagged told her he wouldn't find comfort in it. She didn't, once the novelty of anger and fear wore off. The relief she felt when the Stranger dropped dead wasn't to be confused with satisfaction. She regretted nothing and still wasn't proud of anything she'd done. She knew Kenny understood the difference long before she learned it.

"I spent a long time alone after that. It was, uh…"

He stopped altogether. Amelia didn't expect him to pick back up again. She wouldn't have pushed. Not after she saw the look on his face.

"And then I met Sarita. Thank God." He spoke quietly, something Amelia had never seen him do. "I used to think I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't but, uh…no. I know exactly where I'd be without her."

She thought about stopping him, telling him he didn't owe her the story of this part of his life. She could guess it was already harder for him than for most people, baring his deepest emotional scars when he'd likely never done much of it in his life. But she knew he wouldn't be doing it if it wasn't important for her to understand. She listened; it was easier than talking.

"About a year back, we found her, and…I thought _I'd_ been in bad shape..." Kenny rubbed his palms together. Amelia wasn't sure if it was something he did when he was uncomfortable or just something he did while lost in thought. "First thing I wanted to do was leave her. But Sarita couldn't do it. She wouldn't let it go and by the time we finished talkin'…I don't know. It made sense. Givin' her another chance."

That was it? "You felt sorry for her? You actually felt _sorry_ for her?"

"Yeah, I did." He said it with enough certainty to make Amelia doubt her own; there was no question in his voice, and it made Amelia think if she'd seen Lilly at the time, she might have felt sympathy herself.

No. Pity, maybe. Never sympathy. Nothing that required she-

 _-still-_

-care about her in order to feel.

Amelia shook her head. This wasn't what she'd wanted to hear. She asked herself what she'd been expecting, what kind of explanation would have made her happy and quickly pushed the question back down.

"This doesn't make sense," she found herself pacing. Anger burned into energy, in her experience, and suddenly she had too much of both. "That's it? _That's it?_ " Kenny watched her calmly, stoic and quiet while she paced the floor. "She was one of us. She killed one of us."

Kenny seemed to consider this, though it wasn't for long. "So did I."

Amelia froze. That night had been scorched into her memory as permanently as every other disaster she and Kenny had survived as a group. She remembered vividly how strongly she'd disagreed with him that night. How she'd been doing chest compressions when he-

She stopped there. She skipped ahead, past the things she didn't want to look back on.

She remembered yelling at him. She remembered telling him how wrong he was. She remembered calling it murder because he may or may not have already been dead. And now they would never know. Still didn't, to this day.

To defend it now would be insincere and hypocritical. But it was the only argument that would help her here.

She wondered if Kenny did that on purpose.

"She made a mistake, Amelia."

"I swear to God, if you start talking about how none of us is perfect-" she cut herself off abruptly, knowing that sentenced ended with something violent and no matter how angry she was, she didn't want to threaten Kenny. Threats weren't for friends.

"It was a goddamn awful mistake, and she paid for it. Just like I did."

"That makes it okay?"

" _Amelia-"_ Kenny stopped himself from shouting back, which didn't make a difference to Amelia. His staying calm wouldn't stop her from yelling. She didn't care how one-sided it was. "When we found her, she-" He shook his head, but Amelia didn't wonder for a second what he wasn't saying. She didn't want to know. She'd have stopped him if he tried to tell her. "She paid for it. More than you'd have wanted her to."

"So it's okay to do terrible things if later, terrible things happen to you?" Amelia went quiet. "Is that what you're saying?"

Kenny shook his head, openly frustrated with her. "I'm sayin' at some point, enough is enough. I'm not sayin' I forgive her. I don't think what she did can be forgiven."

Amelia waited. He said something she agreed with. Which meant something that would infuriate her was on its way.

"I'm sayin' I gave her a second chance. Same second chance I got. If she's willin' to group up with us after what I did-"

" _It was not. The same. Thing._ " Amelia raised her voice, aware that people didn't even have to be outside the door to hear her; the group could have been listening from the dining room, to every word. She didn't want to be doing this. Digging into the past so it could never be put to rest. Just because it followed her around daily didn't mean she had to make it haunt everyone else just as much. But she didn't understand how Kenny could leave it behind so easily. "She did it for nothing. Nobody had to die that night."

Kenny turned away, muttering to himself. She didn't catch all of it but made out something like, "…dammit…Sarita was better at this…the fuck to say…"

When he turned back he looked like he was about to give up on convincing her. Fine by her.

"I know you've done a lot, Amelia-"

"-you're turning this on me, now-?"

"- _and I ain't-_ " he raised his voice to get her to stop before she derailed this into another argument. "-blaming you for it. You and me, we do what needs to be done. But it weighs on you. I know there's plenty you'd like to be forgiven for."

She'd expected too much. She'd come here hoping to hear an explanation that made sense. It was hard to feel disappointed when she'd known from the beginning that such an explanation didn't exist.

"So that's it? She forgives you, you forgive her, and everyone's absolved of every shitty thing they've ever done?"

"That's not what I said, Amelia."

"Sounds like it." Amelia crossed her arms. The first of many barriers she'd put between her and Kenny. "Just go." She knew what he said. If that was all he had to say, they were done here. She didn't want to hear it put into different words.

The number of times she'd heard Kenny speak this gently could have been counted on one hand. "Go ahead. Do what you do. Shut everyone out. I'll be here when you decide to come back."

She refused to make eye contact. "I'll 'come back' when she's gone."

Kenny sighed, the both of them knowing he'd done all he could. They'd come to the end of a conversation in which Kenny seemed to think _understand_ meant the same thing as _agree_ , one of which Amelia did very well and the other she would never do, ever. He left her with one last head shake, closing the door behind him and leaving her in the wreckage of broken walls and toppled chairs.

She was alone again. Just like she'd asked to be.

She didn't like it.


	19. Damage: Part I

Nick brought her a beer. Canned. Room temperature.

She'd gotten comfortable in the lobby, shamelessly taking up most of the couch with her legs with no intention to move should anyone come in wanting to sit. Overt aggression had gotten her nowhere; she and Lilly were still coexisting in the same building despite her best effort. Dirty looks and passive aggressive body language were all she had to fall back on.

Nick waited, arm extended with the can in one hand, another beer already opened in his other. Seconds ticked by while she realized that if she was going to have company she could've done a lot worse than his.

She reached for it. "Got anything stronger?"

"No, but four of these might get you somewhere." He scooped an arm under her legs, sliding it just behind her knees, and lifting them together. He sat down in the empty space they left and gently lowered them back down, now over his lap.

She drummed her fingernails on the side of the can. _Tick-tick-tick-tick._ "Do we have that many?"

"Nope." He stared into the fire and went in for a long drink.

Amelia nodded. She pried a finger under the tab, cracked it open loudly, and joined him. It was cheap. Semi-warm. Tasted like someone ran light beer through a filter to make it even more like water than it already was. But it was booze in her system. More than she'd had a minute ago. She remembered not to underestimate how alcohol, even in small amounts could make any situation at least a little more tolerable.

Almost any.

"Thanks."

"Yep."

The fire had started to die in the time Amelia had been sitting here alone. Stacked logs sat crumbling in the fireplace, embers making them glow bright red, but the flames crackling off of them had long since gone small and quiet. She wasn't about to get up to stoke it. She didn't want Nick to, either.

"Sorry." She said. She mentally took a breath, bracing herself. Then she did it physically. "For kicking you out."

"I get it," Nick said into his beer. But he shook his head as he did it. "You, uh. Had to talk."

"It was…kind of-" she closed her eyes, already tired of her own awkward pauses. "Private."

"I figured." Figured, but didn't agree and didn't like it, from the way he said it. He drank again. After another pause he said, "Did you get what you needed? Talk about…what you needed to talk about?"

 _No to the first, yes to the second._ They'd talked. But no one – not Amelia, not Kenny, not Nick – could do anything about how unhappy she was at the conclusion they'd come to. It occurred to Amelia that there was really only one thing she could do.

She drank again. She stopped and cleared her throat when she was down to half the can.

They sat in the kind of silence neither of them minded. It was quiet but not uneasy. Warm despite the dying fire in front of them. It broke only when voices carried from the dining room. People filtered in gradually, some talking louder than others, but they seemed to linger just outside the lobby. Amelia listened for Clementine, and could hear her and Sarah talking about something Amelia couldn't place. One of them giggled.

She wondered if anyone was about to join them by the fire, and listened for footsteps. Instead she heard Luke, his words fading in and out as his voice overlapped with others.

Amelia tried to sound less bitter and sardonic than she felt. "Let's play a drinking game. Drink every time Luke says _woah_."

Nick, about to take another drink, froze where he was and snorted. "You wouldn't be able to keep up."

"Please."

"Wine coolers." He didn't look at her, but Amelia could see the smile creeping over his face even as he stared straight ahead. Amelia was glad he wasn't looking; she couldn't stop herself from smiling with him.

They went back to listening to the voices in the other room. Words were unclear, but she could tell who was talking by the sound, the cadence of their sentences. Luke's was particularly easy to pick out. It was gentle and meandering, full of filler-words like-

Amelia found herself mimicking him quietly, muttering into her beer can as she went in for a sip. "Now hold on, everybody, woah, wait a minute, woah, let's all just…" She trailed off when she made herself snicker.

She looked over to find Nick was giving her a look she couldn't place. Cold flashed through her insides when it occurred to her that maybe he wasn't amused by her impression. She'd gotten too comfortable because he seemed to like her company and because they'd kissed a handful of times. None of it would be more meaningful to him than a friendship of twenty years, she could have guessed that. She'd been trying to entertain herself, not mock his closest friend, someone who had been in Nick's life long before she was-

"It's more like…" Nick paused for a second to finish his beer. He squeezed the empty can, crimping it in the middle before letting it drop to the floor. He put on a Southern lilt far more exaggerated than his own. " _Hey now, come on, don't even worry about it, we'll fix this-"_

Amelia laughed. Out loud. Full volume. She was sure people in the other room could hear and didn't care. Her laughter became tangled with his impression as he went on until Amelia was out of breath and trying unsuccessfully to catch air.

"- _Nick, put that down, I told you you can't go throwin' shit 'cause you're hammered- HEY-"_

She was only able to calm down once he stopped. Her stomach hurt and she wiped a tear from her eye, still giggling in the way she laughed at things just for the sake of having something to laugh at. There were so few of them now.

"You okay?" Nick grinned. Amelia knew she wasn't the most perceptive person when it came to reading others, but even she couldn't miss the pride on his face.

"Yep. Fine." She felt another laugh bubble up inside her. "That was-" She cleared her throat, calming herself. "-that was good."

"Yeah?" He paused, looking again into the dying fire. He lowered his voice just a touch, and suddenly he was wearing a completely different accent that was just as accurate and just as familiar. "These frequent stops are a danger to the group. _No more bathroom breaks!_ "

She thought she'd be able to hold it together. Then again, she didn't think she'd hear another impression that was as spot-on as the first one, but she'd been wrong about that, too. He laughed with her this time.

She took a gasping breath and held up a finger, waiting for the both of them to calm down. Once they were quiet:

"Alvin, _please._ "

Instantly, Nick's eyes lit up and he threw his head back in a laugh that echoed throughout the lobby. Amelia knew it would only be a matter of time before people wandered in, drawn by the noise, but she didn't care.

Nick seemed to have come up with another. Amelia held her breath and waited.

"Whatever. I don't care. Leave me alone." He snapped. Amelia was puzzled, an expectant smile still on her face, unsure if he was impersonating himself or-

 _Oh._

Nick tossed his head, adding to the impression in a way that was entirely unnecessary if it was a hint. She knew who he was. Her jaw had already dropped and she'd lapsed into another giggling fit before he even finished. "Leave me alone, _I'm fine._ I'm gonna go climb a tree somewhere. Fight me…" He trailed off, stopping when even he couldn't keep a straight face anymore.

Amelia inhaled, both because she needed to breathe and because a new idea had hit her square in the face. She balled her hands into fists and scrunched her shoulders angrily. If she'd been standing she would have stomped.

" _Amelia Jennifer!_ "

He laughed so hard he doubled over. She swore she heard him wheeze. "No, no, wait-" he sat upright, another idea on the tip of his tongue, and stopped short. Amelia followed his eyes to Clementine, approaching the couch on her way from the dining room.

Clem looked between the two of them, wearing either her annoyed or her worried face. Sometimes they blended together and Amelia couldn't tell which was which.

"Was that supposed to be me?"

"…" Amelia looked to Nick, who purposely avoided eye contact. She was on her own with this one. She looked back to Clem, trying to remember the promises they made never to lie to each other. More than that, she knew Clem had heard enough to see through it even if she did lie.

"Uh- yeah, Clem, but-" She wasn't sure how to explain to her sister that it wasn't meant to be mean. Not without trying to explain why laughing at her wasn't mean.

Clem's eyes darted between the two of them again. Before Amelia could start to explain, she crossed her arms and cocked a hip in a cartoonish-exaggeration of a person trying to look stand-offish.

"Listen to me, _Luke._ I don't _need_ your permission to do _anything._ Stop acting like my dad!"

Nick laughed louder than he had at any of Amelia's impressions and at any of his own. Amelia's shock and relief made a full frontal collision with each other, until she laughed hard enough to force herself to double over.

Amelia sat up to see her sister with a smile on her face. She gave Clem a tiny round of applause, tapping her fingers quietly against her palm. Clem giggled.

A new voice. One that would have been entirely welcome, if it had come alone.

"What's goin' on in here?" Kenny asked, meandering in with another beer in his hand. He chuckled. "You kids are makin' a hell of a racket,"

Amelia's smile dropped from her face. She sat upright like she'd been electrically shocked and pulled her legs out of Nick's lap. The room suddenly felt cold again. It reminded to her to check the fire. It was dead.

She didn't answer. She watched and waited, unable to help being cautious. She knew Kenny wasn't here to make conversation for the sake of conversation. She knew what was coming.

She followed him in, not long after Kenny sat down on the other couch. He was still filling space with idle comments about Walter and what they'd eaten for dinner when she walked past Amelia. She avoided eye contact as she passed. Then she purposefully made eye contact once she sat down. And held it.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Kenny was the first to speak. Amelia knew he would be. It sure as hell wasn't going to be her. And she could say a lot about Lilly but she knew the woman was smart enough not to volunteer.

"Well." He shifted in his seat, looking from one person to the next. No one had to ask what he was talking about when he said, "That went better than I expected."

Tick. Tock. Tick.

Jokes wouldn't work here. Not on her. No matter how well-intended they were.

Lilly cleared her throat. Amelia's gaze locked onto her immediately, and stayed there. The corner of her mouth pulled itself up in contempt as she looked over Lilly's face. Her hair braided over one shoulder. Her weary eyes. Her stitches. They didn't look unlike her own. If her sister hadn't been in the room Amelia might have said something nasty about having been the one to give them to her. The urge was there. An itch somewhere inside her skull pushing her to come up with something ugly and throw it at her doused in venom.

Amelia had been trying to warn her not to talk. Lilly either didn't get the message or chose to ignore it. Amelia was positive it was the second.

"I don't remember teaching you to fight _that_ dirty."

Amelia moved her eyes down to her hand in her lap and noticed her fingers twitching, about to curl into a fist. Another hand, one bigger than hers, spread over her leg unexpectedly and squeezed. She looked over at Nick like she'd forgotten he was there.

Kenny cleared his throat. "Yeah. That was some fight. Glad you girls are on our side."

Lilly corrected him. "Women, Kenny."

"Right, right."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Kenny singled out Amelia, for reasons anyone could have guessed. She wished he'd picked someone else. "You look like you're havin' a good time,"

"Was."

When Kenny realized Amelia had made her point – that she wasn't about to engage in friendly small-talk with one too many people in the room – he turned to someone else. His choice didn't make sense, but Amelia didn't care enough to try to understand. "Nick. Tell me about where y'all came from."

"Uh…" Nick looked at Amelia like she could make sense out of what Kenny was doing. She could. She knew exactly what he was doing but wasn't about to say it in front of him. "We, uh…came from a camp. Upstate. We were there for…a while. Then we left."

This made Kenny narrow his eyes, if only a little. "What was wrong with it?"

"Nothing." Nick answered too quickly. "I mean…nothing really. They…ran out of medical supplies. Wasn't gonna work. What with…the baby coming…"

 _Lilly shut the door behind her and intentionally stood in front of it. Amelia stood quickly, putting an arm out and pushing Clementine back. Telling herself it was to be prepared in case Lilly tried to hurt her but knowing she was the one ready to inflict pain._

 _Lilly took one, two steps into the room. Stopped there with her arms crossed._

 _"If you're going to hit me again, get it over with so we can talk like adults."_

Fuck you. _Amelia almost spat the words out as quickly as she'd thought them. She knew as well as everyone else did that her reaction in the dining room had been unnecessary. But there was one other person in this ski lodge who had no ground to stand on and call her irrational, and Amelia was losing patience with her by the second._

 _"I think I made it clear I don't have anything to say to you with words."_

Nick covered her hand with his. No one could see it down in the space between her legs and his. The warmth and human contact pulled her out of her thoughts. She sat rigid in her seat, waiting with needling impatience for nothing in particular.

She looked across the living room at Kenny, and tried to avoid looking at Lilly. It was easy to be honest with herself when no one around her could hear her thoughts, and so she silently admitted that she cared for him very much. She weighed it against grief and rage and hatred, still unsure of which counted for more. The more she thought about it the harder it became to decide.

 _Lilly pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked up and watched Amelia with the exhausted eyes and thinly masked irritation of someone forcing themselves to be patient. Amelia thought bitterly that if she was being too difficult for Lilly she was more than welcome to leave. She wasn't wanted here._

 _"What do you want from me, Amelia? I can't take back what I did-"_

 _"I want you to die. That's what I want." The words tumbled out before Amelia remembered her sister was here, watching and listening. This wasn't an example she wanted to set, even though she knew the good-role-model ship had sailed a long time ago without her on it. Violence and vengeance had become an intimate part of who she was, whether she liked it or not. That didn't mean her sister had to witness it like this._

 _But she didn't have the restraint to stop herself. Not here. Not with her. "I wish Carley had shot you."_

 _Lilly stared at her for a long time. A ten-count that stretched out into twenty._

 _"If she had, you'd hate her as much as you hate me."_

 _That wasn't true. It wasn't. She was a liar and a murderer and a manipulator and a sociopath. Carley had been none of those things._

 _It wasn't true._

 _It wasn't._

 _Lilly spoke again, as badly as Amelia wanted her to be finished. "I don't expect us to be on good terms. But can we at least ignore each other in peace?"_

 _Her answer came fast and resentful. She could admit it if it would mean she would leave her alone. "I'm not going to try to kill you again, if that's what you're asking."_

 _"That's sweet of you." Lilly paused, maybe expecting something else but Amelia had meant what she said. She didn't have anything to say to her, and was waiting for the silence to drive her out of the room. "As badly as this went…and will continue to go…it's good to see you're both still alive."_

 _"Leave."_

 _She did._

"Amelia."

She looked up like she was only just remembering where she was. She looked around because she didn't recognize the voice right away; her head was still ringing with the echo of a voice she never wanted to hear again.

"Amelia," Luke lingered near the lobby without coming in. She had to twist around in her seat to see him standing far behind the couch. He was hesitant, and looked awkwardly from her and Nick over to Lilly and Kenny. Clementine waited, arms crossed. "Could you- come help me out with somethin'?"

She was up before he finished. She fled the room without looking back.

* * *

"Listen, I gotta tell you somethin'," He lowered his voice, despite being well out of earshot of the lobby. She'd followed him away from the dining room, halfway down an adjacent hallway.

She waited but he didn't finish. He only glanced around with a strange look on his face she'd never seen before. Or rather, a mix of several looks she had seen. Worry was easy to pick out. Guilt stood out even easier.

"What is it?" she asked slowly, worried he had something to say to her about her…incident in the dining room. A lecture, maybe. Questions she couldn't answer. An awkward discussion about her choices and his choices that she could have lived without.

Instead, Luke showed her a photo he'd been keeping in his pocket. Amelia took it and looked down at Walter and the man from the bridge. Same red coat. Same face. Same smile.

Amelia shook her head. She didn't have words, only disbelief and regret and guilt. She held the picture out to Luke. Shoved it at him when he didn't take it back quickly enough. She couldn't hold it anymore. Couldn't even look at it.

 _What did we do...?_

"See, I knew something was off, so I asked Sarita about their friend. Now they're all worried he's not back yet."

Amelia didn't have anything to say. She'd stood in the wake of wrongful death enough times to know that words were useless here. Anything that wouldn't bring back Walter's partner was useless. She stayed quiet, replaying the scene in her head once, twice, watching it happen again. Hoping the man in her memories would turn out not to be the same man in the photo if she looked hard enough.

His blood still stained her shoelaces.

Luke threw a look over his shoulder, made sure no one was around to hear him. "Damn it… _damn it,_ Nick,"

Amelia knew this was Nick's fault. His and no one else's. But her thoughts were somewhere else.

The loss would come without warning, knock him sideways into the dirt so hard he may never get up again. The rage and grief would be intense enough to make him forget how to breathe as he realized someone he loved was gone and never coming back. Amelia wondered what the last words they said to each other were; she knew Walter would do the same one day and hoped he'd be able to remember.

She knew all of it was coming. Walter didn't. It made her feel sick. Rotten inside.

 _He's going to feel like he's been cut in half._

Luke's voice pulled her back just as the ringing was starting to creep back into her eardrums. "Look I don't think Walter knows yet. So we have to keep this quiet." He seemed to realize he was talking louder than he'd meant to, and lowered his voice mid-sentence. "I mean, who knows what the hell he'd do if he found out…"

"This is…" Tightness in her throat forced her to stop. She took a shallow breath, swallowed, and decided it went better unsaid. _This is going to destroy him._ She shook her head, finally looking directly at Luke. "We can't tell him."

Luke avoided her eyes. Passive aggressiveness and judgment was hard to miss, even on him. "Yeah, figured you'd say that."

Amelia's eyes narrowed, pointed as her next words. "What does that mean?"

Luke hesitated just long enough to tell her the answer wasn't _nothing._ He gave it anyway. "Never mind. Forget it."

She couldn't do that. She'd heard it. Whatever it was had Luke staring over her shoulder so he wouldn't have to look at her eyes, wearing an expression she didn't understand. But she knew they didn't have time for it now. She'd ask later. If she remembered. If their group made it out of this lodge with everyone intact.

"We…we need to leave. We can't stay here." _Can't stay with them_ was what she meant. Luke seemed to understand regardless. After the disaster she'd made out of Lilly being here, all because she'd killed one of their own…the irony wasn't lost on her.

She'd wanted this to go differently. Her actions in the dining room might have said otherwise, but she hadn't wanted to leave. She'd damaged the chances that both groups would find a way to coexist, sure, but she hadn't given up on it completely. Yet.

She shook her head, hoping that if she told herself not to feel disappointed, she wouldn't. They'd only just found Kenny. Slipping away while he slept, when he had hopes and expectations of her and Clementine staying, wasn't how she'd wanted to leave things. Her friendship with Kenny was imperfect and strange, dysfunctional at times, but that didn't make it unimportant. It was genuine, one of loyalty and self-sacrifice and protectiveness without asking questions, and it deserved a better end than that.

She remembered that could've had it much worse. She could have been Walter.

"Does Clementine still have that knife? Because if it was Mathew's, and Walter sees it, he'll put two and two together."

"It's probably in our backpack. You took it with the weapons."

Relief ran across his face, if only for a moment. "Alright. Good. They're upstairs-" he nodded toward the stairs by the Christmas tree, leading up to the second story loft overlooking the lobby. "-by the fireplace." Amelia tried not to snort. They hadn't moved the weapons farther than a short walk up a single flight of stairs. Then again, they hadn't needed to move them far to hide them from her. Only to put them someplace she wouldn't think to look. "Go get rid of it. And I'll find Walter and run interference. Oh, and keep an eye out for Nick."

"I'm right here," The abruptness of his voice, how close he'd gotten to their conversation without Amelia hearing a single footstep almost made her jump. Clementine followed him. They rounded the corner she and Luke had hidden behind so close to the wall she wondered if they'd been standing on the other side, listening. It was nothing she hadn't seen Clem do before. "What's up-" Nick cut himself off. "Amelia, what's wrong?"

Luke answered for her. "It's nothing, Nick, just…"

"Look at her face. This isn't nothing." He paused, sure that he wanted to talk but not sure of what he wanted to say. "I know it's rough having Lilly here. Is that…what this is about?"

Luke stared her down in a way that was clearly meant to tell her to say _yes._ He even nodded to her, silently mouthing words when Nick wasn't watching. It would've made resolving this lit fuse of a situation much simpler. Fewer loose ends to tie up. She looked between Nick and Clementine and knew Luke was right; the smart thing to do would have been to send them both on their way.

"Hey," he said gently, pulling her eyes up from the floor. "Talk to me."

She looked back down and noticed blood under his nails. He must have missed it when he washed his hands after cleaning her up.

She moved slowly when she wandered toward Luke, and quickly when she snatched the photo from his hand.

"Hey-!" he quieted himself, looking around to make sure no one had heard. He didn't do anything to stop her from holding the picture out to Nick.

He didn't say anything at first. He reached for it slowly, barely gripping it hard enough to stop it from slipping through his fingers. His hand shook.

"Oh…" he breathed. His next words were louder. He didn't seem to notice or care. "Oh, god…"

Luke hurried to keep him quiet. "Nick, _do not-_ " For a second he forgot not to raise his own voice. "Don't blow this, man," he whispered.

" _Blow it?_ It's over." His next words came out easily. No stuttering, no hesitation, one word fluidly after another like there was no other way to answer. "I have to tell him, Luke."

Amelia and Luke answered over each other.

"Don't."

"What? No!" Luke caught himself just in time to refrain from raising his voice. "Nick, you cannot do that. I mean, _fuck,_ do you know what he's gonna do?"

Nick didn't sound like he believed himself. "You don't know he'll do anything."

"Are you kidding me? Nick you _shot_ his _friend._ "

"You should listen to him, Nick," Clementine ventured carefully. She seemed cautious, eyes flitting between the three people around her as if their argument might turn into a fistfight at any second. She wrung her hands together. "Don't tell him."

Amelia was surprised. Her sister had been on the honesty train for the last week. Reminding her that she's carrying a secret, quietly letting her know here and there when Luke was alone and suggesting that it was a good time to talk to him. Then she remembered who she was agreeing with, and wasn't surprised anymore.

There was always a reason to lie. If there were no downside to honesty, there wouldn't have been any liars in the world. Lying for a reason she thought was compelling hadn't done her any favors in the past. Pretending it was for the benefit of anyone other than herself had only done more harm than good. She thought of it like prying out a bullet in the arm. Painful and necessary. It would hurt until it was over.

For everyone except Walter. He would hurt long after.

Amelia answered without giving herself the chance to reconsider. They were wasting time they didn't have. "Okay."

Luke raised an eyebrow, watching her carefully. "'Okay' what?"

She looked up to meet Nick's eyes. "If you want to tell him…okay."

Luke didn't speak for a second, stunned. Then, "Amelia, tell me you're not…" He didn't finish, and Clementine spoke up in the silence he left.

"I think that's a bad idea," she looked between the two of them, worry making her eyes wide. "It's a really bad idea."

Nick answered her like neither of them had said anything. "I have to. I can't live with that on me."

"Then you should do it."

Nick let out a hybrid between a sigh and a weak laugh, and seemed to breathe easier. "Thank you. It…" He looked quickly to Luke and Clementine, and decided to say what he had to say regardless. "It means a lot to have one person behind me on this."

Amelia only nodded. She wanted him to enjoy the relief while he could. The hard part wasn't over yet.

Luke wasn't ready to let it drop as easily. "Nick, I am _warning_ you, this is fucking suicide."

"I'll live with it."

Would he? The question hung by a noose in the air above them, despite none of the four having asked it.

"I just…" Nick's face changed, and Amelia ventured a guess that he was already playing the conversation in his head. How he wanted it to go, how it would go. Two very different things, both in his mind and in reality. "I need a minute." He left them, quickly enough that Amelia worried the panic was creeping back in. Maybe he was on his way to do the counting thing. She considered following him to remind him.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Luke said from behind her. She turned around, wondering if the act he'd picked was the angry parent or the disappointed one. It turned out to be the worried one, which Amelia didn't blame him for.

"He deserves the chance to…" Amelia trailed off, wondering if the words sounded like a joke coming from her. She finished anyway. "…at least try to do the right thing." A chance Luke hadn't even considered giving him. Nick's words floated back to her, reminding her of something he'd said while cleaning her up after her fight. Making her think of the way Luke had pulled her off of Lilly, done everything he could to end that fight with nothing but good intentions and concern for her safety.

It meant Luke was a lot of things. Good things. A friend, a caretaker, a peace keeper. But the things he could do – things he seemingly couldn't help but do – pointed to what he couldn't do. Like let others make their own choices, even if those choices were mistakes.

"He deserves to live past 26." She understood that he saw it that way, and didn't have an argument or a desire to make him think any differently. It was something Nick needed to do. That was reason enough for her not to get in the way.

Luke's expression softened. She already knew that he didn't get angry often, and when he did he never stayed that way for long. "Look, Amelia, just…go do that thing, alright? We don't want him findin' that before Nick gets to talk to him..." His face made it clear that he didn't want Nick to talk to him at all. She was sure he had plans to talk him out of it. He knew Nick well enough that he might actually succeed. But that would have to be a conversation that didn't involve her. "Amelia." Luke pulled her attention out of her thoughts and back to him. "Please?"

She nodded. If they agreed on nothing else, neither of them wanted Walter to find the knife. _Get rid of it._ She could do that. She considered places to hide it as she watched him leave in the same direction Nick had.

"Clem-" she looked around to see her sister had disappeared, then up at the second story to find Clem was already halfway up the stairs. "Clem, what…?" She trailed off, unsure of how to ask what she meant to ask. She knew what she was doing. She had no idea why she was so anxious doing it.

She followed Clementine to the staircase; she only made it up two steps before Clem came running back down, hugging a backpack to her chest that, from the look on her face, Amelia would have assumed was hiding a dead body. Clem shouldered past her and didn't even stop to take her jacket on her way out the front door.

"Clementi-"

The door shut behind her.

* * *

Amelia followed her sister out to the porch, grateful she'd never taken her jacket off. The temperature had dropped since she'd last been outside. She'd been half-hoping to see Pete still out here and half-hoping she wouldn't. He'd long gone inside, leaving only disturbed snow on the wooden deck where they'd talked earlier.

"Clementine," she called after her sister, who didn't even turn around. She hurried down the porch, toward the ski lift Luke had let her climb to scout the forest when they'd first arrived. Amelia caught up to her to find her at the sharp drop in the hillside, huddled against the ladder she'd climbed only a few hours ago.

Clem was closer to the edge than Amelia would have liked – her toes touched unstable ground – staring down into the darkness hard enough to tell Amelia she was contemplating where to throw the knife.

"Clementine," Amelia said carefully when she slowed to a stop.

She finally turned to face her, her cheeks and nose bitten red by the cold. Her breath clouded up in front of her face like a smoker's plume as she talked. She nodded toward the incline. "We have to get rid of it."

"Here? Clem, let's just hide it in the lodge-"

"He can't find it, Amelia," Clem hugged the backpack up against herself as if it might keep her warm. "It has to be _gone,_ "

Amelia opened her mouth to argue, before reminding herself that this wasn't about the knife. Not really. Her sister's strange habits – and her own, for that matter – were rarely caused by the closest problem.

She unzipped her jacket, feeling the winter cold wrap around her ribcage, and then her arms as she shrugged the coat off. "Here."

Clem didn't move. She almost shook her head. Amelia held her other hand out, palm-up.

"Trade me." She said with patience she didn't even have to fake.

Clem stared at the jacket in the way she'd seen people stare at food after going too long without it. She knew she'd only have to wait another few seconds before-

Clem stepped forward just enough to make the switch. She hurried to shove her arms through the sleeves and fumbled with the zipper, likely because her fingers were already numb. While she did, Amelia unzipped the backpack to find the knife was the only thing in it. WM. It made sense now, in a way she wished she hadn't realized.

"What are you doing, kid?" she asked, taking the knife out and turning it over in her hand. It was heavy, and even the leather handle felt ice cold.

"I just…I was afraid Walter would find it and…if he knows…" Clem squeezed her hands into fists, balling them up sleeves that were too long for her arms. "What if he…does what you did and…" She stopped herself again, frustrated that she had to try so many times to say one thing. Amelia already understood, but thought it better to let her talk. Clem gave up anyway. Arms folded in a huddle, she stepped aside – inching another step toward the edge – and nodded toward the hillside. "Don't just hide it. You have to throw it away. You have to."

Amelia looked from her sister to the knife again. "You're worried about what could happen to Nick."

Clem released a full breath, a long cloud of fog that trailed into the air and blew away in the wind. "I'm worried about…what'll happen to you if something happens to Nick."

She'd been expecting something. She hadn't been expecting that. But she understood exactly what she meant.

If it would make her feel better, it was a small price to pay. She understood why Clem needed a sure thing, just one in a life that had so few. "Okay." She tried to reassure her. "We'll throw it down. If that's what you want to do."

That didn't seem to make her feel any better.

"Clem?" Amelia asked. "What's wrong. I promise Walter won't find it. Look-" She drew her arm into a backswing, ready to toss it underhand over the edge and down the rocky hillside. Down into the dark where no one would find it for a long time. Certainly not tonight. She froze mid-toss when her sister spoke again.

"I did something."

"…'Something?'" Amelia prompted when she remained silent. "Clem, what are you talking about?"

"You're going to hate me."

Amelia almost laughed. "I'd bet you a candy bar I won't." It didn't make her sister laugh, which only made her more uneasy. "Clementine," she said, deciding that seriousness would better get her point across. "Whatever it is, it couldn't have been that bad." Couldn't have been as bad as the many misdeeds with her name on them that littered the American South.

"I just…" Clementine took another backwards step, staring straight at Amelia and imploring her to listen.

"Clem-" Amelia stepped forward.

"-don't want you not to trust me anymore-"

" _-Clem you're too close-_ " She shot herself in the foot, she realized, when she watched her sister jump, startled by the sudden rise in her voice. Amelia broke into a lunge, a second too late. On the first step she saw Clementine's heel come _an inch_ too far onto the unstable ground of the hillside. On the second she heard Clem gasp as her balance was ripped out from under her, arms thrown out in front of her as she tipped backwards like she'd been pushed. Amelia reached for her hands and missed them by a moment that seemed to pass at half-speed.

Clementine landed on a shoulder, crying out while sliding down in a haze of snow and mud so quickly she was already out of sight. Amelia gave herself a single second to shoulder the backpack while she took her running start, before she planted a hand in the snow and pitched both her legs over the edge.

She stared down into the darkness swallowing up the hill. She couldn't see Clementine even as she followed her, snow wetting her jeans and injecting her body with a chill that spread through her in seconds. She found herself pitched onto her back by the momentum and uneven ground. She twisted onto her side but that was all she could to do sit up, skidding down completely out of control with all of her weight split between her outer thigh and one shoulder.

She stared into nothing and tried to stay on a straight path, easier said than done with the way she was skidding over rocks and past tree trucks with no way to slow down. She spread her arms out to either side, as far as she dared to with the trees rushing past, trying to sink her numb fingers into the ground and stop herself. Her fingertips only dragged against slick ice doing nothing to slow her down but making her hands go numb to the bone. Something freezing and sharp dragged across her face without warning, sudden and painful enough to make her cry out in a hybrid of shock and anger. She hid her face in the fold of her arms, convinced that if she looked up the next tree branch would go straight into her eye, deep.

She shouted her sister's name, digging her heels into the ground and carving deep tracks into the hillside as she went, finally slowing down – if only a little – grateful that the snow had made the dirt soft without freezing it solid.

Finally, she heard her own name called back, close. Her eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark yet, and she looked around – would have done a full turn if she could have – with too-wide eyes as she slowed further, finally slowing enough to sit up, try to get her bearings and plant her feet on something solid to come to a stop. Looking past the trees just in front of her, she could see that the ground had leveled out in front of her. They'd reached the bottom, wherever that would leave them.

" _Clementine,_ " she called as loudly as she dared to without any idea how many walkers could be within earshot of them.

"I'm over here," her sister's tiny voice seemed to come from nowhere. She looked around for her own jacket, looking desperately for light blue vinyl that should've stood out easily in their surroundings. She spotted her, a little more than an arm's reach away, and almost didn't recognize it as a ball, realizing Clem had curled up – having turned onto her side, like Amelia had – huddled and shivering after she'd slid up against a tree trunk thick enough to stop her.

Amelia scrambled to her, crawling clumsily across slick and uneven ground and touching the shaking lump of her body with numb, uncoordinated hands. "Clem," she said, gripping her arms, squeezing the padded fluff of her jacket, relief already making her voice go soft. Her sister turned over in the dirt and cautiously lifted her head. Now that Amelia's eyes were used to the darkness she could see Clem had caught some debris to the face. More than she had herself. She'd expected the wide eyes of a doe caught in headlights but found the bruised and agitated face of a girl who was more confused than upset.

"What the hell?" Clementine breathed as a branch snapped somewhere in the distance.

Amelia quieted her with a quick _sht-_ and went motionless, telling her sister to do the same. She'd heard enough noise to know it wasn't the wind. She was looking at her sister and knew it hadn't been either of them. They weren't alone. She hoped for wild animals, walkers, or people, in that order.

She listened for growling. Dragging. Choking. Something, anything that implied it was one of the first two. Then she heard voices.

It occurred to her then and only then that not a single person in the lodge at the top of the hill knew the two of them were down here.

She gripped Clementine tighter and pulled her in close, as if squeezing her until she couldn't breathe would do anything to keep her safe. Clem knew to stay quiet without Amelia's say-so. They shivered in silence while they listened to the voices draw closer. They started as unidentifiable babble. Conversation at a distance they couldn't understand. She tried to place the voices, wondered if she'd ever heard them before. She decided they weren't familiar. They intermingled with footsteps crunching ice as they walked. There was definitely more than one pair, but they overlapped so clumsily and irregularly it was impossible to tell how many. Three, maybe. Fewer than five. She hoped. Eventually they got close enough to understand. Close enough, she realized, to spot their shoes when she peered through the brush at the level ground. Two pairs of feet came to a stop just close enough to make her sweat, both clad in combat boots.

"Fuck if I know. I told you I heard screamin'."

A woman spoke this time, her accent just as thick. "And you're sure it was over here?"

The response was dry. "Why the hell would I be sure?"

Someone sneezed, loudly. The voice that followed the tail end of it didn't sound female. The first man, the one who'd heard her coming down the hill, snapped at him. " _Hey._ Johnny, want to shut to fuck up before you draw lurkers with that shit?"

His answer was defensive. Sarcastic and not at all remorseful. "Sorry, man,"

She held Clementine more for her own reassurance than her sister's, counting voices and getting more anxious as the number got higher. The first man and the woman made two. The guy who sneezed made three. She was looking at two pairs of feet and listening to at least one other. Four maybe? Five?

She didn't believe in coincidences. She may not have known who these people were, but she knew why they were here.

"You're tellin' me you didn't hear the bushes movin' like crazy?"

"It was probably just an animal, Troy." The woman sounded tired. Annoyed with this conversation moments after it started. "Or a lurker."

The man sent his boot prodding into the bushes only an arm's reach from Amelia and Clementine, jogging the brush, trying to startle something out of it. "Animals don't scream like that."

"For God's sake, _no one else heard screamin'_."

Amelia took a quick stock of what she had to use. An empty backpack. A single knife. No jacket. A cut on her cheek that was starting to sting like a bitch.

A kid she couldn't let these people see at any cost.

"I know what I heard." He kicked at the bushes again, swaying branches around Amelia, who couldn't remember holding this still in her life. Clementine was breathing quietly enough that even Amelia had to strain to hear her breath shaking. She waited for the woman to convince him to give up, hoped he'd get bored and move on. She felt the anxiety twisting into impatience. She had to force herself not to make any jittery movements.

She whispered directly into Clementine's ear, so quietly even her sister could barely make the words out. She kept it short. They didn't have the time. "Back to the lodge. Warn them."

Clem only mouthed words back at her. _How?_ Without Amelia having to answer, her eyes widened and she shook her head, the waterproof covering of her jacket making light zipping noises. Amelia's heartbeat kicked up and the squeezed her shoulders even tighter to get her to stop.

The woman spoke up again, giving Amelia a spark of hope something inside her knew was false. She took it anyway. "Bill isn't gonna be happy with the holdup."

Amelia's jaw tightened in a way it hadn't in a long time. She knew who they were talking about, and knew it would've been too much of a happy coincidence for her to be wrong. He was here. Thinking that it would be too soon if she never saw him again in her life was wishful thinking. She knew it even as she'd said it.

It hadn't made her ready for it to happen. She could hear her own heartbeat. It occurred to her that they could hear it too, and she couldn't purge the thought from her head.

"Wait, _wait…_ " the man said, his boots frozen where he stood. They were quiet for a five-count during which Amelia didn't breathe at all. " _There. Right there._ " She couldn't see where he was pointing – couldn't see them higher up than their shins – but something inside her sank, dropping like a weight into the pit of her stomach. It sat, there, toxic and cold, making her think she was going to throw up on both pairs of boots.

She heard the metal-on-metal action of a gun chambering a round. "We saw the bushes movin'. Come out or I'll shoot!"

Amelia slipped a hand over Clementine's mouth, stifling a whimper quiet enough to disappear in a gentle breeze. Clem whispered Amelia's name against her palm, staring at her with terrified eyes she'd seen plenty of times, eyes that asked her what to do, looking to her for answers when there weren't any.

"I said _come out!_ Don't pretend you're not in there, _I fuckin' see you._ "

Amelia leaned into the side of Clementine's head and whispered the only answer she had.

"I love you."

She sat upright and, hand still clamped over her sister's mouth, called out at full-volume, "Okay."

Clem gasped before Amelia stifled her into silence. "Shh…" She nodded toward the top of the hill. The lights from the lodge could barely be made out, the porch lights reduced to vaguely dim orbs up at the top.

"Come on." The man prompted. He made no movement to lower his gun but took a step back, giving her room to step out of the bushes. The woman did the same; Amelia watched their boots step away from the incline. "Be quick about it. _I said now!_ "

Amelia nudged herself down the last few feet of the incline, planting one foot on solid ground followed by the other. She ducked as she stepped out, trying to keep her face shielded from the branches and pine needles. She stood upright and looked straight ahead only to find herself blinded by three flashlight beams aimed directly in her face.

She brought an arm up to shield her eyes, but doing it blocked her from looking at the people in front of her. A man named Troy, another named Johnny, and a woman.

"Put your hands on your head. _Fuckin' do it._ " Troy barked. She complied, knowing every one of her movements were going to be painfully obvious under the direct light of their flashlights. She laced her fingers together behind her head and waited. Maybe to be shot. "You alone?" he demanded, and didn't seem to buy it when Amelia nodded once. "Are you fucking with us?" She gave a single head shake.

Clementine stayed still and quiet, and it made Amelia breathe a little easier. She was a smart kid. She knew when to move and when to wait. It didn't stop her from worrying.

"Wait 'til Bill sees this," Troy's voice was low, but jittery. "What did I fuckin' tell you, Bonnie?"

Amelia tried to see past the light, but could only make out the vague shapes of three people. The only thing she could say with certainty was that they were armed. Whatever guns they had, they were big and fully automatic. She made a mental note not to make any sudden moves.

"Just-" The woman called Bonnie sounded frustrated. Shocked and in disbelief. "Just go get him. Hurry up." Troy broke off from the group, taking his light with him. Once it was gone, Amelia blinked, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to adjust to the random alternations between bright and low light. It took her a moment to realize Bonnie was talking to her.

"Huh?"

"Who are you?" Bonnie asked for the second time, clearly impatient. There was something manufactured about her tone. Like she was forcing herself to sound harsher than she was used to being. "What are you doin' out here?"

Amelia didn't answer. If the woman would shoot her for that, then she never had a chance of getting out of this alive in the first place.

Footsteps grew closer and louder in the dark. More than one pair. More than two, Amelia realized as she listened. _Shit._

"…found her lurkin' in the bushes…" Troy's voice became clear mid-sentence. "She thought she could hide but I-"

Another voice interrupted him. A man's voice. One that was both new and old. "Hold up…"

Two words sent ice crawling through her veins, almost doubled her over in disbelief and nausea and utter shock because she'd witnessed a lot of unfortunate, unlucky shit in her life, _but this-_

He pushed his way forward, forcing Bonnie and Johnny to part for him when he could have just gone around them. He stepped forward slowly, stopping just in front of Amelia when he blocked the light beams from hitting her in the face. Finally able to see, she looked over his face in the darkness, searching it for familiarity to match the voice, and found it she knew it very well despite the short amount of time she'd been acquainted with it.

"No fucking way…" she breathed.

It made him laugh. A low chuckle that made her feel like there were living creatures writhing around inside her spine. "How've you been, Amy?" he brought a hand up to her face and dragged a thumb across the bleeding gash in her cheek, not gently. She didn't stop him, not willing to bring her hands down and risk provoking someone into shooting. He mocked the way she flinched at the sting by making an exaggerated wince; the way he grinned after told her it hadn't been an accident. His eyes flashed wide. "Karma's a bitch, ain't she?"

Another familiar voice spoke. One one made of gravel and gunmetal, one that struck her cold despite the fact that she knew it was coming.

"You know this girl?"

She was able to make out his shape, somewhere in the dark behind Bonnie. Tall, broad. Sinister. She looked at him only out of the corner of her eye, instead staring straight ahead. Partly because she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Partly because she didn't want to look away from Nate, knowing he was prone to unpredictable violence when he wasn't being watched. And when he was.

He addressed Carver without turning around. He glanced down to his hand, a bright red smear of blood staining the pad of his thumb. He could have made a clean fingerprint in her blood. He wiped it off on the arm of his coat in long, lazy swipes. He shot her a knowing look as he did it. "That I do."

There was a mean edge in Carver's voice that suggested he was grinning. Something spiteful and sharp that sat just beneath the surface. "A friend of yours?"

Nate chuckled again. Something lit up in his face, something he didn't even bother to hide. He shamelessly relished his next words, each one dripping in gleeful spite.

Almost as if he'd waited about two years to say them.

"Don't walk in front of her. She'll knife you right in the back if she thinks she'll get something out of it."

"Well." Carver said, mild amusement adding a cruel tinge to his voice. Amelia finally looked at him, past Nate and past Bonnie and into a face that managed to terrify her even when she couldn't see any of the features that belonged to it. "Aren't you good at making friends?"

She forced herself to breathe again, relieved that Clementine still hadn't made a sound. It wouldn't have taken much; she was surrounded on all sides by dead leaves, crumbling ice, brittle twigs and tree branches. She must not have moved a muscle since Amelia came out. The group seemed preoccupied enough. All Amelia had to do was keep her mouth shut and wait for them to decide to move on.

Carver stepped into the beam of Troy and Bonnie's flashlights, blocking them from hitting Amelia without blinding her with his own. He was only an arm's reach from her. Or rather, she was only an arm's reach from him.

"It's nice to see you again, Amelia," he said, making her wonder if the friendly-neighbor act he'd given her at the cabin was one he did just for fun. He had to be perceptive enough to know there was no use for it here. Not with her. He rested a hand over the revolver in his belt – the warning wasn't lost on her – and spoke like they were having a casual conversation. "You're not out here alone, are you?" The concern was as false and hollow as his smile.

Amelia's answer was quiet. As dry as she could make it to avoid giving anything away. "Afraid so."

"How's your sister?"

The words tumbled out, muttered with undisguised contempt. "Dead. Thanks for asking."

"Aw, that's not true." Carver shook his head. "Now why would you want me to think that?"

Amelia swore at herself silently, kicking herself for speaking without thinking. The nerves turned anger turned energy had made her jittery, twitchy and ready to do something, anything, as long as it was violent and without warning. Of all the times in her life she'd found herself in this mood, inching closer and closer to impulsivity and lack of control, she'd never been happy about it until now. At least now it would be helpful. Useful destruction. Controlled chaos.

Her eyes wandered back to Nate, down to his open jacket where she could see the handle of a flare gun tucked into an inner pocket. The words crawled softly into her head like they weren't her own thoughts _take it from him._

But not yet. She didn't move, tightening her laced fingers behind her head. She decided to tread forward. Test the waters. She hoped getting him him to talk would give her something she could use. "Because I don't want you anywhere near her. I hope you're not delusional enough to be offended."

He chucked, low and dangerous. She remembered him doing it at the cabin, and didn't know whether to consider it a good or a bad thing that her behavior made him laugh so often. "Actually, I don't blame you a bit, sweetheart."

She'd gotten what she wanted. She understood in a way she wished she didn't. She thought back to the bodies at the river, the ones facedown in the water and the ones laid out on the shore with open foreheads. A river, a ski lodge. Location didn't matter. Some people didn't stop unless they were stopped.

 _He needs to be stopped._

Another thought, quick and intrusive, barely above a whisper in a voice she both did and didn't recognize. Its familiarity faded in and out, letting her think she knew it before making her second guess it.

Something touched her eyelashes. She looked to Nate, the closest person to her, fixing him with a glare meant to melt steel for whatever he'd done before she realized the blood dripping into her eye wasn't his doing. Nate's smile dropped for the first time she'd seen, his twisting into an uneasy combination of confusion and mild disgust.

"You're, uh…your head's bleeding."

Amelia unlaced her hands, hoping they wouldn't notice that she didn't put them back after wiping the blood from her forehead. Her stitches screamed when she touched them, making her grit her teeth so hard the ringing came back and didn't go away. She could hear her heartbeat again, no longer pounding out of control from adrenaline and fear, but slow and measured. Almost too slow. Unless she was only imagining it.

Her thoughts wandered absently back to the forest, back to the two men she'd left with holes in their skulls and back to Lilly, who'd she'd tried with everything she had to kill with her hands. She remembered regretting her actions, remembered being told that she was right and also wrong, remembered having to explain herself but she knew if nothing else that none of that applied here because-

 _-some people just need to be dealt with._

" _Hey._ " Troy was raising his voice at her, for a reason she didn't understand or care about. "He asked you a question, girl."

Did he?

There was a brief silence in which no one answered her. Bonnie spoke up when she remembered something Amelia could have guessed: that Carver wasn't one to repeat himself.

"Show us the way to the lodge."

She spoke slowly. She had to concentrate on each word to hear her own voice through the ringing. "Do you need me for that?"

A single nod from Carver had three rifles aimed at her head. She knew it was three, despite seeing six, fluid and vague and crossing over each other. "No, I don't think we do." Carver mused. "But if you take a minute to think about it, you might find you'd rather come along anyway."

Amelia closed her eyes, covered them with the palms of her hands and tried to will her head back to normal. Or as close to it as she'd ever been. When she opened them again, looked across the three automatic rifles pointed at her, eyes jumping from one barrel to the next. She looked back to Nate, whose face looked like was anticipating something. He was trying – badly – to keep himself from smiling like he was waiting for the punchline of a joke.

She held an arm out in a silent, sweeping gesture in the direction of the path. _After you._ She didn't trust herself not to speak without provoking someone.

Somewhere above them, not far up the incline of the hill, branches snapped. Pebbles tumbled down in the snow.

Troy turned around, swinging his light across the trees. "What the fuck was that?" His attention was back on Amelia in a second. "You said you were alone,"

And then he turned his back, walking away from her and toward the hillside where her sister could be reached with only a short climb.

 _Stop him stop stop him stop him_

The words went off like an alarm in her head, perpetual and urgent, making Amelia finally remember who they belonged to. That Amelia, the one who couldn't – or didn't – discern between enemies and friends and answered every problem with violence, the one who was provoked into brutality by the slightest bit of fear. She was a lot of things. An executioner, someone who inflicted pain for the sake of pain, someone not remotely close to the sister Clementine needed or the one Amelia wanted to be.

Amelia could lie to herself about many things but couldn't pretend it didn't pay to listen to her. It's why, when she heard _drop him_ whispered quietly in her ear she did it, stepping hard on the back of Troy's knee the second his back was turned and bringing him to the ground like a walker she planned to stab in the head.

" _Bitch!_ " he spat once he'd recovered from the fall. When he put his hands in the dirt to stand up she planted a foot between his shoulder blades and kicked him forward, hoping to watch him face plant.

Someone approached her from behind, someone she knew was Nate before he said, "Alright, Amy, you had your fun-" She turned swung on him without a second of warning, a ruthless hook she meant to drive straight into his face.

It took her a second to realize that the sharp, resounding _smack_ that followed wasn't her making contact but the sound of Nate's hand closing around her wrist in an iron grip, leaving her fist caught in the air _just_ in front of his face.

Of all things, Nate laughed. Probably at her, for the way she stared at him, blinking in shock with an astounded swear on the tip of her tongue.

"Nope."

He planted his other hand over her collarbone and pulled her forward in a brief windup to pitch her backward, shoving her to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her on impact and make her skid for several feet in the dirt. Amelia caught her breath staring up at the night sky, cold air slicing back into her airway. She rolled over onto a shoulder and glared up at Nate from the ground.

He grinned at her again. "No points for trying."

She'd forgotten about Troy. He had too much time to get up, she realized, and he was on her before she could get her feet underneath her, one hand pinning her at the shoulder – a terrible place to gain leverage, but she wasn't about to tell him – and the other cocked above his head with a fist.

"You little _shit-_ " he threw one punch into her face, then another. The first blow caught her in the mouth – she tasted blood and had an overwhelming urge to spit it into his eye – but she protected her face from the second with her arms, which he'd left completely unsecured. He hadn't even hit her that hard. He was swinging with his arm, not his torso. She wondered who'd taught him what he knew.

Not Lilly, unfortunately for him.

" _Troy._ "

He went still immediately. In the silence that followed, Amelia realized Carver had raised his voice. Something she'd never heard before and would've killed to never hear again. Troy hovered over her for a second, his curled fist and twisted face clearly itching to hit her again. But he did as he was told.

"Oh come on," Nate argued. "It was just getting fun,"

She found herself under Carver's flashlight again, a dangerous place to be. She pushed herself up to her knees, then her feet, running her tongue over the new split in her bottom lip and spitting blood into the snow. She didn't want to be on the ground in front of him, but knew it wouldn't make any difference. If he intended to kill her he could just as easily do it with her on her feet.

He walked toward her, slowly. Maybe it was deliberate. Maybe he knew he was making her more nauseous with each step, with each foot the distance between them shrunk. He finally stopped, shining his flashlight over the bushes again. Further up the hillside, the brush moved.

"You gave her a nice head start, didn't you?"

She did. She could have given her more if Troy had gotten to give her the beating he'd wanted to. That, and she'd have gotten the chance to hit him back.

Troy started barking orders again, telling Johnny to follow him up the hill when Carver cut them off.

"Don't bother." He turned away and started making his way up the path. He didn't need to tell the others to follow. He spoke without looking back. "Let the kid warn them. They've got nowhere to go but down."


	20. Damage: Part 2

**AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. It means a lot to me when people take the time to read my story, so it's especially wonderful when people let me know what they think of it in the review section. All opinions are welcome and constructive criticism is always appreciated.**

 **This project has become very important to me, more so than I was expecting it to when I started it last year. I promise everyone reading that it will be finished, even if the updates are somewhat irregular. In the past, updating has taken longer than I would have liked, and I'm hoping that from now on I'll be able to write them faster with more free time than I had then.**

 **If you're still here, reading my story, thank you. Really.**

* * *

 _She executed the walker with a single, point-blank shot to the back of its head. It dropped dead, pinning Amelia under its weight, but before she knew it the woman had thrown the corpse off of her. She bent down, grabbed Amelia's hand before she offered it, and hauled her to her feet. Amelia looked over her shoulder for Kenny and his family, worried they'd be lost in the mob while she and Clementine ran to safety. She pushed her sister into the security gate that barred the walkers from getting to the front doors, looking back to see the woman whose name she didn't know, holding it open for them while the people who'd followed her out screamed at her to close it-_

"Keep moving."

Amelia stood, cheeks red in the cold and blinking through her confusion. She met the eyes of the woman in front of her, regarding her with caution and disdain, hands on the assault rifle she had pointed at the space between their feet.

Then she understood. She'd stopped walking, let the rest of the group get too far ahead while she relived the last time she could remember someone coming to rescue her.

She went back to walking quietly.

The walk was longer the second time. And colder.

A jacket would have been nice. She didn't regret giving it up. She had to repeat that to herself a few times, when the cold biting through her thin black sleeves was particularly harsh.

She wasn't sure why she was still alive.

Carver seemed like a man who favored sense. Killing her would have made sense. One less loose end. One less person walking behind him who he knew would knife him in the back if she got the chance, if he believed Nate. She'd had the last forty minutes – and at least another forty to go – to come up with a reason. So far she had nothing.

The upward incline of the mountain path had gotten progressively steeper. The higher the angle got the closer they were getting to the lodge. Amelia didn't share this with them. They seemed to know already. Flashlights stayed aimed at the ground for most of the walk, watching for half-buried rocks and patches of ice. Occasionally someone slipped. Bonnie, Troy, the third guy whose name Amelia's mind had already buried. Every time it made Amelia jump, suddenly shot with adrenaline and urgency at her chance to get an upper hand. Every time was short-lived. They still had five more guns than she did.

Four, if she could get her hands on that flare gun.

She hadn't decided what she'd do with it yet. Maybe she'd fire it into the air to make sure her group knew Carver was coming. Or fire it into the small crowd her captors had made around her, to use the shock and chaos to get away from them. Maybe she'd shoot Carver in the back with it and take what would likely be her only chance to kill him before he did something that couldn't be undone.

She dwelled on the last one, imagining the flare, red, incandescent, furious as it soared straight into the back of his head. It would probably light him on fire. The image was still in her mind when someone fell into step beside her. His light faced forward, so she couldn't make out much about him in the dark aside from the rifle he carried pointed toward the ground.

"Amy. Boss man wants me to ask you how many people are up in that lodge."

Amelia listened and waited for the smug undertone, for the setup of a joke leading up to her being the punchline. Something about karma, maybe. Anything to remind her that she was the one caught by a firing squad and he was the one holding a gun. She didn't hear any of it, for reasons she couldn't come up with. It sounded like a simple question and nothing more.

She ignored him for a long pause, and they walked in silence before she answered. She shook her head and hesitated like she was doing mental math. "There's got to be at least three."

He snickered, quiet either because it was all the thought the joke was worth or because he didn't want to be heard. Amelia leaned toward the first. She waited for him to ask again, since she hadn't made any effort for subtlety when she sidestepped the question. He didn't. Amelia was surprised he'd cared enough to ask the first time.

Amelia forced herself to look straight ahead as they walked, knowing he'd only need to catch her making one glance at the the flare in his jacket to guess what she was thinking. She would've bet that he'd see it, even in the dark. She kept her eyes up while he chuckled again like he was stifling laughter at a joke he'd told himself.

"Nice bruises, by the way," he snorted. "Someone finally kick your ass for talkin' shit? Or was it for stealing?"

There it was. She'd wondered when he was going to sound like himself again. He'd admitted to her once that it was a coping mechanism. She knew he held his as closely as she held her own, and that it wouldn't take long for it to come back.

Amelia didn't know what to think of Nate anymore. Then again she never had in the first place. Since the world had changed, her new reality had been defined by her ability to anticipate. To guess when dangerous things were coming so she could quickly and quietly step out of the way before they reached her. Then Nate drove up alongside her and crushed her favorite coping mechanism in the grille of his truck. He threw her off from their first conversation and she never really set herself right after. She'd thought she knew how to read strangers, how to guess what to expect from them. Until she didn't.

She searched him for the familiar, something that would give her an idea of what he was thinking. Part of her knew it was pointless. His thoughts could have been anywhere. The inside of his head could have been a warzone, like hers, unstable and violent. It could have been a playground of guns and freedom, a place where he wasn't in any real danger because unlike her he didn't have anything to lose. It could have been a desert. Barren and empty, where he and the people around him could have been and probably were the only people left. Amelia would have bet that it had been all three, at one time or another.

"I knew you were a thief, but kidnapping?" He lowered his voice, something she'd never known him to care enough about what others heard to see him do. "From _that guy?_ " He shook his head, not in disappointment as she'd seen so many people do it. He almost looked impressed. "I thought you might be the death wish type, back when we met."

Amelia didn't answer. She stared ahead, straight into the space between Carver's shoulder blades as she turned the word over and over in her head. _Kidnapping._

She'd had her ideas. One in particular had stood out among the rest. She tried to ignore the irony of the fact that the person to finally tell her the truth hadn't been any one of the people who called themselves her friends.

Nate looked over her face and took a guess at her thoughts. Again, he was right. "You didn't know?" he shook his head again, this time feigning disappointment that she could tell from the smug edge in his voice he didn't really feel. He was mocking her. Poking and prodding with words, waiting for her to snap again. The walk had been too quiet so far. "Just joined up with a group of strangers and believed everything they told you?"

"Isn't that what you did?" Amelia muttered, eyeing Carver up ahead with a creeping feeling he could hear them despite the distance. "What did he say to get you to help him at the river?" She finally turned her head to look directly at him as they walked. He didn't do the same. "You did help him slaughter those people, didn't you?"

He didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes, ma'am."

On another day, maybe a long time ago, his nonchalance over a dozen human lives would have made her genuinely angry. Tonight, for reasons she could have guessed but didn't want to think too hard about, the outrage she hoped she'd feel didn't come, leaving her to fake it. She sped up for a few steps, just enough to get in front of him and turn to face him. She shoved him. Two-handed, open-palm, right into his chest.

"Fuck you."

She didn't send him back far – half a step. A part of her expected it to set him off, which would serve her purpose just as well. She recalled, with more clarity than most of her buried memories, the look that came over his face back in the roadside diner. How easily he made dark threats with every intention of following up on them-

 _-two gunshots in rapid sequence, barely time for a scream in between-_

But it didn't. He looked confused. Mildly irritated.

"Fuck _me_?" He repeated in a tone that suggested he was about to put his hands up in exasperation. "What did _I_ do?"

The most convincing lies began or ended with a little bit of the truth. Maybe both. She couldn't have said she didn't mean it when she shook her head and asked him, "What's wrong with you?"

His answer was easy, tossed out like he couldn't believe she didn't guess it on her own. "I don't like getting shot at, that's what."

She knew that. She'd only remembered just now. She'd put those memories to bed a long time ago, only to have them resurface unexpectedly and without warning-

" _-we've got to get in there. Fucker shot at us-"_

-to remind her the past would always be there, no matter how far she was from it. It wasn't over when it was over, not with Nate. It was over when he returned fire, when bullets were exchanged for bullets and pain was repaid with pain to balance scales that only existed in his head. She didn't envy anyone who had a score to settle with him, even as a voice somewhere in her mind told her not to forget that she was on the list.

Sincerity washed over his face and looked so glaringly out of place there that it made Amelia think of dirt on a white rug. Blood splattered in snow. As misplaced now as it was the first and only other time she'd ever seen him try it. It didn't belong. It didn't make sense.

"You weren't there, Ames. They fuckin' started it."

 _Like the old couple started it?_ Amelia held her tongue, already knowing the words would be useless, especially words he wouldn't even consider an insult.

She hadn't reached for the flare gun yet. Even pressed for time and anxious to catch up to Clementine, she wasn't stupid enough to make it that obvious. But it didn't need to be obvious for Nate to notice. He'd already shown her that impulsivity and unintelligence weren't the same thing. Something she wished she'd remembered after the first time.

"See…takin' shots at me, trying to steal my shit right out from under me…" His face changed. Hardened back into cold distance in a split second, making Amelia realize too late that she was standing far too close to him. "That's the kind of shit that's gonna get somebody hurt."

She thought about going for the flare anyway. Maybe he'd move fast enough to stop her, maybe he wouldn't. But how long after that would he shoot her in the head?

Of all the things she'd been expecting to hear from him, she wasn't anticipating quiet disappointment. "You haven't changed, Amy."

If he'd been expecting otherwise, she didn't understand why. She was the same person she'd been eighteen months ago, maybe with more body scars and less patience-

- _higher body count-_

-but still the same person who would choose her sister over any stranger she'd meet. She'd called him insane when they met, then second-guessed whether he was as crazy as she'd thought. If he was the type to run in circles, to repeat the same mistakes and expect change, then maybe she'd been right the first time.

She was busy trying to guess the next thing he had to say to her, when he chose not to speak to her at all. He looked past her. "Bonnie." He gave her a shove she didn't see coming, almost hard enough to make her trip in Bonnie's direction. "Do me a solid. And if she talks, don't fuckin' listen."

* * *

They made it to the lodge long after the sky had gone black. They stepped out of the trees and could tell from the edge of the forest that the lodge was dark. Lights out, outside and in. Amelia realized they'd cut the power, and chose to take it as a good sign. She hoped they'd already cleared out and taken Clementine with them.

If she'd even made it back.

She'd been thinking and rethinking, analyzing and overanalyzing, with nothing else to do with the time but hike uphill and wonder if Clementine had made it back first, or at all. Maybe she'd been too slow and was right behind them, about to be caught. Maybe she was stuck somewhere on the hillside, or lost far from the lodge in the dark without supplies and without the knife Amelia should have left her with.

Carver walked over the front lawn without words, looking over the wind turbines that dotted the front lawn; Troy and the guy whose name Amelia had heard twice but still didn't care to remember followed him. She was left with Bonnie, who lingered behind and gestured for Amelia to do the same. She had taken her gun off of Amelia's back twenty minutes ago.

" _Look, we don't have to walk like this if you promise not to try anything."_

" _What do you think I'm going to do?"_

Since then, Bonnie had walked next to her, her gun pointed at the ground at Amelia's feet in a quiet, constant warning. There hadn't been any incidents, despite the many that went through Amelia's thoughts. Bonnie seemed to think they'd reached an understanding, and she wasn't wrong. But she also seemed to put it past Amelia to do something violent and nasty the moment she thought she could get away with it.

"Bill said you have a little sister?" Bonnie asked quietly.

Amelia considered talking to her, asking her what she was doing here, prepared to answer the same question herself. She might have done it if she thought the conversation would result in anything that might help her. Bonnie had come this far with Carver. Killed people for him, a number she could only guess. A single conversation with her, even if she drenched it in forced patience and false solidarity between the only two women present, wouldn't change her loyalties that easily. So she stayed quiet.

Instead, she watched Carver. The discomfort she felt when she saw him was nothing compared to the unease she felt when she couldn't see him. He ran his flashlight over the closest turbine, pointing it at the metal panel sealed shut on his side. Troy began prying it open without anyone asking him to.

 _What does he want with…_

"I'm askin' because this could get…real ugly if it goes bad." Bonnie said, making Amelia wish the woman had learned when to stay quiet as painfully as she had learned it herself. "And if you get the chance to tell your friends to come peacefully, you really should take it."

She nodded and kept her voice low so only Bonnie could hear. "You want to take your hostages alive. Got it."

"This is _not a joke, Amelia_ ," Bonnie turned to face her. She was closer than Amelia would have liked, leaving Amelia to glare silently, trying to tell her without words to back out of her personal space. "If people just start shooting, there's no telling who could get caught up in it. Including your sister. I don't want to see that."

"Then-" Amelia's response, one that would have been sharp and venomous and judgmental as hell, died mid-sentence she she looked back to Carver, saw him with his hands inside the control panel and put two and two together far, far too late. She saw where this was going, and the idea had her hands shaking with adrenaline before the threat was even here. "You can't do that," she said it once, then said it louder. Sharper, despite the way everyone around her carefully watched their tone when speaking to him.

Bonnie interrupted from behind her. Amelia barely noticed. "Don't-"

" _Hey. I'm talking to you. You can't do that._ " She found herself walking toward him in a rush, and came up in an abrupt stop when Troy leveled his gun at her chest. Carver hadn't acknowledged her, or paused in what he was doing. Maybe he'd been trying to show her that she was wrong. Gravely incorrect in assuming there was anything he couldn't do. She mentally amended her complaint. He could do this. He couldn't do it without consequences. Consequences that would involve someone's death, on his side or hers. It didn't seem to make a difference to him, or to the people holding guns on her so she couldn't stop him from doing it.

She planted her feet into the soil and tried not to look at the gun nearly pressed into her sternum. The turbine would make noise, enough noise to lure everyone outside to shut it down, but it would also-

"That'll draw every walker for-" she stopped, and looking at the people around her she realized she'd been the last one to cross the finish line.

Carver finally acknowledged her. "Something you want to say, Amelia?" She noticed for the first time that he'd already drawn his gun. The six-shooter was hanging by his side in his left hand. He didn't need to point it at her to make his threat clear. "Maybe something you want to do?"

She looked from the barrel of the rifle aimed at her body, up to the man behind it and the man behind him. She understood now. She'd been in a hurry to prevent risk he was well aware of. The hazard she'd been warning him about was the precise reason he was doing it. She'd been wrong to think he didn't anticipate casualties. She'd been wrong to think the chaos he caused was anything other than intentional.

Carver grinned a snakebite of a grin that made her sick to her stomach. "I didn't think so."

His free hand disappeared into the darkness of wires and switches inside the panel, shifted something mechanical and then threw the panel door shut despite the both of them knowing she would never get close enough to undo it. The turbine roared to life, its engine filling the air with mechanical screaming even from underground. The blades cycled by far above their heads, gradually picking up speed that threw second layer of white noise over the first.

Despite the time she'd had to brace herself, the turbine was out of control before she was ready.

The dead crawled out of the forest like cockroaches scared out of bathroom tile. Slow and rotten and hollow and in numbers far higher than Amelia ever would have faced on her own. They'd only just emerged and she could already see, twisting to look over one shoulder, then the other, that she and everyone else were surrounded at a distance. The space between her and the walkers on all sides was shrinking with each second that ticked by.

The gunfire was immediate and ear-splitting. The rifles spat out a constant train of heavy fire, which she almost couldn't hear over the wind turbine, each cycle of the blades pounding in her chest cavity like the bass of a stereo turned up too loud. Amelia found herself crouching, since she could only see two of the five guns and didn't know where they were shooting from, and backed herself against the picnic table, Far past the wind turbine, she could see the nearest wall of the lodge, the windows low but boarded up with wood and nails. The front door was a long shot, between the walkers and the firing squad, but that window, she could do. She already knew where the weapons were inside. The constant gunfire was all noise and confusion, a thundering auditory fog that laid perfect cover – or the closest thing she would get – for her chance to make it there. She knew she wouldn't get another. The question was when to run.

The walkers were closer than she remembered.

Blood flew as bullets landed in their heads, in other areas of their decaying bodies. Some dropped face-down, others kept coming. It looked like for every one that was put down three more came out of the woods to take its place. She looked left, then right, saw two more fall and-

An unmistakably strangled growl screamed to life not far behind her, almost right into her ear. She jumped and forced herself away from the table, trying to watch her back and every other direction at once while trying to understand how she'd let one of them get so close. She couldn't hear herself think over these gunshots, let alone distinguish distant noises from the ones that were right behind her.

It came for her, reaching with bloodied hands missing fingers, the skin rotting away to show her the array of bones inside. It wasn't alone. Four more had followed it, and it had taken her too long to see them as well. They were close. Close enough not to leave her any time after killing the first; she'd either have to go in swinging and hope for the best or run and hope for the best for completely different reasons.

She forced herself to wait, let it come closer until it was within her arm's reach. She kicked out its knee and heard bones crack, watched it bow inwards in a way the joint wasn't meant to go. It dropped to the ground, hobbled in one leg but not the other, still consumed with intent to rip out her throat and eat what was inside.

She buried Walter's-

- _Mathew's_ -

-knife into its temple down to the handle. It dropped, taking the knife and her along with it since she refused to let it go. She wasn't about to lose her only weapon, not thinking about the walkers but about the next threat that would demand she use it. She'd only fought walkers bare-handed a handful of times before, but she was more willing to do it than to try the same with Carver.

She dropped to a knee over the fallen corpse at her feet, a fist still closed firmly around the blade's leather handle. She gave it a pull, then another; it held fast, the suction too much to be overcome by what upper body strength she had. She started to breathe faster and growl swear words, one half of her shouting at the other that she had to let it go, there was no more time-

The knife came loose, slick and dripping with blackened blood. She stood upright, the walkers within arm's reach, close enough to grab or be grabbed, and took a step back. She turned the knife blade-out in her grip, holding it close and waiting for a clean shot to the neck or head-

" _Move-_ " For a split second, Nate's voice was louder than the gunfire as his shoulder crashed into hers hard enough to force her to stumble into the table. She steadied herself with her free hand down on the tabletop, looking back to watch him fire round after round, dropping corpses one after another.

One, two, three, four. Dead. More than that were already on their way to replace them. By the time she turned around Nate was on the tabletop, rapid firing a hailstorm of bullets in one direction, then the other, then back again and-

Was he smiling?

The dead fell in front of her, collapsing one after the next in a domino chain. Blood flew, intestines were pierced, skulls shattered to pieces. Some dropped to their knees and fell face-first, others were blown backward, necks broken as they stared up into the sky. Nate held his fire when there was only one left in front of them, leaving Amelia to clinging to the table and wondering what the hell he was doing while he carefully lined up his shot and-

Broken skull. Flying grey matter and a dark red bullet hole in the dead center of the walker's forehead.

" _Boom._ Headshot!" He didn't wait for a response from her – Amelia thought he might have been expecting applause, and wouldn't have put it past him – but he'd cleared a path for her, whether he'd meant to or not. The field between them and the near side of the lodge was-

- _littered with bodies-_

-empty, and she wasn't about to run out there and be the only thing in his scope.

She acted without thinking, a habit that had saved her life as many times as it had nearly ended it. Nate was armed and she wasn't trained the way Lilly was, she could never match his muscle like Kenny could, but she was fast and vindictive and no one had ever made any rules about cheap shots from behind. Before she could think something other than _it needs to be done_ she was stepping up on the bench, then behind him the tabletop. She hooked her fingers into the collar of his jacket and pulled down hard and fast, bending him backward without warning and forcing his gunfire to a sudden stop. He fell into the bench, landing on his neck as he tumbled back, letting out a short, guttural sound that didn't make it into coherent words as he fell hard on his shoulder and rolled into the dirt. He'd barely started to pick himself up when she was gone, only one thought in her head _don't walk in front of me_ while she ran for the window in a full sprint.

She fought the urge to stop where she was and drop flat, convinced the gunfire from the rest of Carver's people was aimed at her. Even hurdling the bodies strewn across the field and trying not to trip, it would only take one of them to see her and one bullet to put her down with the rest of the corpses. She didn't stop to think and didn't stop to look, sprinting across a highway hoping not to get crushed by the cars speeding by in both directions.

* * *

The inside of the lodge was darker and quieter than she'd been hoping for. She couldn't recall how long she'd gone from window to window in the back, looking for a weak spot in the boards nailed to the frames; she could only guess how long it had taken her to pry one of them loose with her hands, pushing with a foot braced against the building until she fell flat onto her back when it finally came out. She'd crawled in feet-first through a space _just_ large enough for her to fit through, running into the center of a dark and empty lobby hoping to run into someone, anyone who could tell her where to find her sister.

The whir of the turbine had gone quiet, now that she was alone to listen for it. Someone had shut it down. She glared at the front doors, knowing she hadn't gotten in fast enough. She could shout it to the empty room all she wanted; it wouldn't change what it was too late to change. Carver's trap had worked on at least one person. Maybe all of them.

 _What if you're the last one?_

 _What now, Amy?_

"Amelia-"

She whirled at the sound of her name in a familiar voice, reeling with shock-

- _relief-_

 _-_ when she recognized Lilly halfway up the stairs to the second floor. Amelia was on her way up before she finished, taking the steps two at a time before Lilly could tell her to hurry. She tried to find the right questions to ask; Lilly was already there.

"Tell me you have a gun," her voice was low and calm. It could easily have been mistaken for anger by someone who didn't know her better.

She shook her head, lifting the knife that hung in her right hand. It was still coated with blood down to the handle. "Just-"

She heard her name again, this time the voice was much smaller and much more familiar. "Amelia,"

Amelia audibly gasped and dropped the knife to the floor _thud_ , she knew it was a stupid thing to do but she was knocked sideways by relief she couldn't put into words. Clementine met her halfway with open arms. Amelia hugged her too tightly and picked her up even though she was a little old for it and they hadn't done that since Clem was nine years old, thinking about how happy she was to see she'd made it and how sorry she was to send her away in the first place but keeping the thoughts to herself because she was afraid that if she tried to put them into words she'd cry right then and there.

Clem said it for her, whatever joy she might've felt masked by worry. Amelia didn't blame her. "You made it," she said as Amelia set her back down on her feet.

"Are you okay? Did anything happen-"

" _Amelia._ " Lilly pulled her attention back, making her straighten up and turn around.

Amelia knew she knew better than to ask. They didn't have the time. But she searched Lilly's face for something to give away the answer to her question and didn't see it. She had to know. "Why isn't she outside with everyone else?"

"We don't have time-"

"Lilly told me to stay." Clementine said, coming in close enough that her shoulder pressed into Amelia's hip.

" _Now isn't the-_ "

The front doors dragged open, sending a cold breeze drifting through the lobby and the three of them down to the floor. They crouched behind the balcony's safety railing and waited in silence. Amelia was positive someone had seen them, and was about to tell them to come down before they start firing into the banister. Lilly reached across the floor for the knife Amelia had dropped, moving fast and staying low as she did.

At first there were no voices, only footsteps and a sharp, high whistle.

"Look at this place…"

Amelia flattened her back against the safety rail, inching toward one of the gaps between the panels to risk a peek down into the lobby. They were here, the front doors left wide open. Bonnie. Troy. Nate. The bruise coloring his forehead and the restless, agitated look on his face made her think of some phrase she couldn't recall. One about consequences, something about laying in the bed she'd made.

 _Shit._

They came in behind a group of people she recognized, all walking quietly and single-file with a gun in their back. They marched her friends through the center of the lobby and sat them down up against what used to be the concession stand, one after another. Nick, next to Pete, next to Walter and Sarita, Carlos and Sarah. Like a lineup for a group execution. Amelia told herself that wasn't where this was headed. She was unconvincing.

"Can you believe this fuckin' place, Bonnie?" Johnny swept his gun across the lobby as he did a full turn to take in everything around him. "Power and everything."

"Yeah, it's somethin'," Bonnie agreed. "A lot of windows, though…"

"The rest of them could be anywhere. How are we going to cover these guys and look for them, too?" He paused, glancing down at the people on the floor and back up, and even from the balcony Amelia could see him consider whether or not to have this conversation in front of them and then decide it didn't matter. "Bill's going to be pissed when he finds out we lost the girl."

Nick looked up, having heard them from his place at the end of the counter. He looked between the two of them. "Are you talking about Amelia?"

She thought Troy had been too far to hear, but he did. He joined them at the counter, making Amelia wonder what about him gave him a need to mock and belittle; she'd seen him do it twice already. She knew the things that triggered her own mean streak. Others', she didn't understand as much.

"No one's talkin' to you, Nick,"

Bonnie didn't seem to want to engage either of them, and answered Johnny instead. "There's only a handful of places she could'a gone. We'll find her when we round up the rest."

"No you won't." Nick scoffed, louder this time, as if he was challenging Troy to make him stop. His face was hard, simmering with anger and nowhere to put it other than into antagonistic words.

Amelia could tell from the way Troy grinned that he thought he was smarter than Nick. It was in the smug edge in his voice, the way he walked. The mistake would only do him favors; Nick wasn't in a hurry to correct it and neither was she. "Yeah? That'd mean she hung you out to dry." He gloated. "If we don't find her it means she's long gone."

"Damn well better be."

The door opened again and the room went colder than it already was. Amelia tensed, and put a hand out to make sure Clementine stayed below the railing despite knowing she would.

The words "This is it?" broke the silence in the room between heavy footsteps.

Carver stopped in the middle of the room, looking over the people they'd caught but likely dwelling on the few he knew they hadn't. Amelia risked a peek through the paneling; he was looking up, sweeping over the entirety of the second floor. She didn't like the look on his face. It sent a silent message he didn't need to put into words. It was a chance to come out before he did something to make them.

Amelia's breathing had gone so quiet even she couldn't hear it. The idea of giving herself up willingly and quietly, _to him,_ make her mouth twitch in contempt. _You're going to have to make me._

 _Be careful what you wish for._

Carver fixated on Carlos, pulling him out of the lineup with a hand under one arm. Amelia knew the choice wasn't random. She didn't know the story behind it and didn't need to. She knew what a personal grudge looked like.

She expected words. A warning, a threat, a demand, something other than immediate violence. She wasn't expecting a piston punch straight to his gut. Amelia heard the heavy sound he made as he doubled over, and was shocked he didn't throw up on the spot. Instead she only heard him cough and draw a long, ragged breath to take in the air Carver had knocked out of him.

"Listen." Carver said, from behind him, towering over him while Carlos refused to turn around to look at him. "I'm only going to ask you once. Where's Rebecca?"

Carlos was silent.

He stayed silent until Carver forced one of his hands into the air and snapped his index finger at a clean break, a ninety-degree angle. Amelia dropped her head against the railing, pressing her forehead into the paneling and closing her eyes, searching for thoughts to drown out his screaming, Sarah's crying. She almost couldn't hear Lilly when she leaned in to whisper to her.

"Who did you see out here?"

"No one," she hissed back.

Lilly turned to her, hitting her with the same intimidating eyes she'd had the day she and Clementine first met her. "I need you to be sure. Did you see Kenny? Or Luke?"

Amelia wished she'd had another answer. "Neither."

" _Rebecca._ Our baby deserves to be raised in a place of safety." Carver announced to the room, speaking to the people who weren't there rather than the people who were. "I know you're out there. And Alvin. Luke. Amelia. And the girl. This is real simple. You want this over quick, you all play nice and show your faces."

On her other side, Clementine whispered into her ear. "We have to do something," she pleaded. "He'll kill him,"

Lilly had heard. Amelia wasn't sure how. "Don't move."

"Amelia, he'll keep hurting people. Sarah's down there, and Nick-"

"Clem, just-" She knew that. She knew it and didn't need to hear it repeated. She looked over to Lilly, who didn't move her eyes from the lobby. She seemed to consider what she'd already said to be enough. Amelia shook her head, unsure and frustrated and already feeling herself moving backwards. Retreating back into the first line of defense she'd ever developed, one that had been with her since Macon, since the Motor Inn, since the day she met Kenny, and Lilly, and Carley-

 _Just do what Lilly says._ She almost said, it, and stopped herself just before it came out.

Clementine tried again. It was something Amelia envied about her, that even at her age she was willing to argue and stand for her choices when the adults around her disagreed. "But Carlos-"

Amelia looked over her shoulder, eyeing the long, horizontal window, guessing it had been too high up to board from the outside.

"Clementine and I will get out through the window and find Kenny," she said to Lilly, hoping for one response in particular. Lilly didn't answer right away. She'd trapped the handle of the knife beneath her palm, flat against the railing, as she watched what was happening below them.

Carver snapped Carlos' second finger, forcing another blood-boiling scream out of him. Sarah tried to cry out; she might have been pleading with him to stop but by now she was crying so hard her words had dissolved into unidentifiable sobs.

"Is that what you want?" Lilly's question was stern, and if it was meant to make Amelia second-guess her choice, she wouldn't have been surprised.

She turned on her knees to make her way toward it, pushing it open and looking outside to the porch below. A cold breeze brushed across her face as she took in a drop that was small enough to land without getting hurt, but just high enough to be a one-way trip. She leaned out of the way, holding it open for her sister and nodding toward it.

"Stay under the windows and wait for me."

Clementine moved across the floor in a crouch and stuck both legs out first, perched in the open window like she was about to go down a slide, one with nothing to catch her at the bottom. She hesitated there, and looked to Amelia.

"Need help?" Amelia asked when it occurred to her that Clementine was waiting for something. "I'm right behind you." Amelia said again. Clem nodded carefully, then slipped out the window and down to the first floor. Amelia watched just long enough to make sure she landed safely and crouched below the boards.

She shut the window. Latched it for peace of mind, since she knew her sister wasn't a bad climber, and rejoined Lilly under the banister.

"Don't feel guilty." Lilly told her. "That was the right thing to do." It was a relief to hear, even from her; Amelia never would have admitted it, and was grateful that no one would ever ask her.

" _We're coming in,_ " Amelia was so surprised to hear Rebecca's voice she doubted she'd really heard it. She'd considered Rebecca and Alvin gone. Not seeing them here had made her think they were on their way back down the mountain. She'd hoped they were. Instead, she watched the both of them walk in the front doors with their hands over their heads. They were met with guns and caution, and directed toward the concession stand to sit the everyone else. They tied Alvin's hands but not Rebecca's, and each took their place in the lineup.

That left them with Kenny, and with Luke. She didn't want to admit she didn't have much faith in either, looking at the guns around the room and the deep colors of the bruising in Carlos' face.

"Lilly?"

"We're going to have to follow them."

Amelia wanted to object. The last thing she'd wanted was for this to end with Carver getting what he'd come here for, with her friends tied up, beaten, and taken away. But Lilly's words repeated themselves in her head and she realized the second time around that she was right. Carver had too many people and too many guns. If someone started shooting, her group had more people to lose than his did. Something told her he was more willing to give up his than she was to give up hers.

She nodded her agreement. "They'll probably follow the river back down. They said he has a camp, not far from the bottom of the mountain. It can't be hard to find. If they take a car they'll leave tracks…" It wasn't the best plan but they could've had far worse. She was only glad Clementine would be kept out of the crosshairs. No one had to die if they did this right.

"Exactly." Lilly muttered. "We'll pick up Clementine on the way out. Try to find Kenny, too-"

A single gunshot went off, coming from a direction she couldn't point out. Even in the midst of the screaming and shattering glass, it was hard to miss the sound of a body falling, hitting the floor hard and heavy because there was no one left inside it. It took her a few seconds of searching the lobby through the paneling. She spotted it as someone called out Johnny's name, just beneath the front window, which was now blown wide open. He was laying motionless and facedown in a mess of broken and scattered glass, a growing puddle of blood pooling beneath his head.

Lilly found words before Amelia did. "Damn it… _damn it, Kenny,_ "

Amelia didn't like the sound of that. She didn't like feeling Lilly tense up beside her, hearing her swear under her breath. If Lilly was alarmed, then Amelia's friends were more fucked than she'd thought.

Cries, protests, pleading overlapped one another from the concession stand. All Amelia could see was that Carver had gone that way, gun in hand. She had to take a step to her right and press her head against the railing to watch, and wished she hadn't when he approached the hostages and picked Walter up by the collar of his shirt.

 _What…_

He moved with a purpose she didn't like seeing. Her stomach tied itself in uneasy knots waiting for what she'd already anticipated, but stayed frozen, watching, just in case she was wrong. She wanted to be wrong.

He dragged Walter through the lobby and put him on his knees in front of the open window. Amelia was numb, watching him put the gun to his head and waiting for the threat, the final warning, but knowing that Walter had a chance, if Carver had been doing it for any reason other than to make a point he wouldn't have already been pulling the trigger.

Walter fell forward. The only thing Amelia could see from where she was-

- _from where she was hiding while other people got shot-_

-were his hands, still zip-tied behind his back.

Carver backed himself against the nearest pillar, taking cover from the shooter despite only having a vague idea of where he'd hidden out. He shouted, directing his threats outside. "That's for our man. Now I didn't want to do this, but you ain't leaving me much choice. So here's what's gonna happen-"

Amelia was busy arguing with him silently, the words white-hot and vengeful _fucking bullshit_ , because she knew and he knew that no one could execute another human being that easily unless they were happy or indifferent to doing it.

He looked back to the lineup of hostages, scanning easily across each of their faces. "I'm gonna march another one of your friends out here and I'm gonna put a bullet in the back of their head. Or you can give up now. Your choice."

Lilly muttered through gritted teeth, despite the fact that – maybe because – Amelia was the only one around her to hear. "Come on, Kenny…don't be fucking-"

Another shot flew through the broken window and lodged itself in the pillar, not far from Carver's head but not nearly close enough. It happened again a second later, carving a deep groove into the wood and sending a small cloud of sawdust floating into the room.

"- _damn it._ " Lilly seethed. Amelia felt her own fury building right along with her. She looked down at the hostages, watching them watch Carver as he came back to pick another victim; this was as close as she'd ever wanted to come to gambling with other peoples' lives. If Kenny insisted on taking the risk the least he could have done was not _fucking miss._

"Hi, Pete."

The next voice she heard was Rebecca's, tangled with Nick's, each one getting louder and more desperate the more they talked that Amelia struggled to tell the two apart, despite how different they were.

"Bill, no! Tell him to stop-"

"No, no, wait, please _-_ "

"-Kenny, _stop!_ "

"Don't do this _-_ "

Like a child watching a horror movie, Amelia turned around and pressed her back to the railing. As if closing her eyes would stop time, make it any less real than it was. She called herself a coward a dozen times in a row for trying anyway. She stared at the wall so she wouldn't have to watch Carver drag Pete into the center of the lobby. She almost covered her ears, started muttering nonsense words to herself to drown out Nick's shouting, which turned to screaming, which turned to pleading-

"- _we'll do whatever you want, don't-"_

"- _don't do this-"_

"- _Uncle Pete-_ "

-all the way up until the gunshot. Then there was crying.

 _You should have killed him on the way up._

 _Now look what he did._

She stared ahead at the wall, choked by tears that refused to come. She stayed in the middle ground between crying and not crying, a fist around her windpipe making it impossible to calm herself as she listened to Nick's pain from only ten feet above him. Close enough to hear every sob.

Something in her had a habit of burying grief in the ground, leaving it there until it became something else like a flower that had to be suffocated in order to grow. Something volatile and toxic that couldn't be contained, something that demanded she let it out into the world before it ripped her open to get there. Lilly's hand over her own got her to look, and when she did, Lilly's face didn't look like her. Her voice didn't sound like hers, either.

 _You know what to do._

It was a voice she'd heard before.

"What?" Amelia heard her voice crack, even at a whisper.

"I said, keep it together." She pointed back behind them to the window, the urgency in her voice disguising itself as anger. "Get outside. Find Kenny and tell him to give himself up. Don't get caught. _Now, Amelia._ "

Amelia moved for the window, and the moment her fingers touched the glass she heard another sound that made her feel needles piercing her insides.

" _There! Outside_ -" Troy shouted over white noise of shouting and crying. He sprinted outside, rifle up and loaded.

She turned back, staring through the railing out into the lobby, thinking they'd seen Kenny, reminding herself it had to be Kenny, while knowing that if she truly believed that she wouldn't have come back to look. She repeated it to herself a dozen times over in the time it took him to come back, dragging Clementine by the arm.

The ringing was back. It drowned out whatever Lilly had to say to Amelia, numbed her body so she barely felt Lilly's hands trying to pull her away from the balcony and push her outside. Something about _Kenny_ , about _surrender_ , about _go now_. It all faded into nothing as Amelia hooked her fingers over the top of the railing preparing to stand up. She wouldn't leave her down there alone, she would die before that happened. Lilly forced her back down with hands pressing down on her shoulders,

"Hey- _hey! Amelia-_ " Lilly hissed into her ear. At some point she'd covered Amelia's mouth with her hand, something that only made her think _good idea_ because if she could have screamed her lungs raw then and there, she would have. Lilly was talking to her but she wasn't listening. Not while she was watching Troy handle her sister like an animal, dragging her by the arm to the concession stand throwing her into the counter. Rebecca moved to catch her just a second too late. " _Stop._ Calm-" She tightened her grip when Amelia struggled again. " _-calm down._ " Finally, when Amelia stilled, breathing hard through her nose while Lilly held her mouth shut, she said, "Just wait. Be smart about this. You're going to do something you regret."

If Carver threatened her sister she was going to do something everyone would regret.

She watched it unfold in front of her like a train wreck in slow motion. Every shard of broken window, every inch of warped and ripping metal crawled by so she could take in, every casualty, every horrifying detail. She swore she could see into his head. Even watching them from above and behind, she watched Carver consider it, then decide it would send the exact message he wanted it to. She watched each of his steps connect with the floor as he took Clementine by the arm, about to walk her out to the center of the room, where the bodies were piling up. Where she would become the fourth in as many minutes.

Amelia tried to breathe and found she couldn't, she had no air, just high-pitched ringing and a slow heartbeat in her ears-

 _b o o m_

-she reached blindly and clumsily for the knife in Lilly's hands-

 _b o o m_

-Lilly didn't let it go, Amelia grabbed it by the blade, there was a sharp sting in her hand and she threw her head forward, launched her own forehead in to the bridge of Lilly's nose and the knife was hers-

 _b o o m_

-it made sense somewhere in an absent part of her head, halting an unstoppable force required an immovable object, avoiding indescribable pain required uninhibited rage-

 _b o o m_

-she stood, climbed up onto the banister until she was perched on the railing, staring down at her sister and the monster who had her in his jaws-

 _b o o m_

-a jaw she intended to break with her hands-

 _-you know what to do-_

 _-show us what's in the bag-_

 _I love you…so much_

She was able to breathe again on the way down.

Her entire body made contact with his; it felt like landing on jagged stone, the impact shocking her from her face to her knees. She expected – she wanted, hoped for more than anything she could remember – him to fall on impact, and screamed in frustration when he only went down to one knee, his gun flying from his hand and clattering across the hardwood. She'd wanted him flat on the floor, as defenseless as his victims, face-down so she could lift his head and cut his throat without a fight, but he stayed upright, forcing her to start clawing for his jacket, his hair, something, anything to grab onto. She hooked an arm around his neck and wrapped her legs around his ribcage to keep her feet off of the floor.

He tried to shout something, but she intentionally laid pressure on his throat, choking him to the point that he could only manage a strangled growl. He hooked both hands into her forearm, trying to pull it down to give himself some breathing room. She raised the knife in her other hand and brought it down into his shoulder, deep. The noise was wet and satisfying in a way she knew then she would never admit, even if she replayed it over and over in hear mind just to hear it again. He screamed despite the lack of air, a throat-ripping howl that didn't sound human.

She expected him to fall, and felt her own eyes go wide when he stood upright, growling and struggling as he lifted her weight despite the deep wound in his shoulder

 _-no-_

He bent forward once, then again, making her tighten her grip around his neck when she realized he was trying to throw her off. He stood upright again, stumbling further into the lobby until she realized he wasn't stumbling, but running her toward the pillar so he could-

He turned, sharp and fast, slamming her into it with momentum and vicious intent, rattling her teeth, knocking her head, shoulders, and back into it all at once. She pulled the knife out, ripping another scream out of him, and tried again, this time going for his neck.

" _Dammit!_ " Troy shouted, gun raised, eyeing them down the sight. "I can't get a shot!"

"No-" Carver spat, reaching over his own head to claw for Amelia's face as he slammed her into the pillar a second time. _WHAM._ Ringing. Lightheaded. Weak arms and legs." _Idiot-_ "

She dug her hooks in deeper, crossing her ankles around his torso and hoping he couldn't tell that she wasn't sure she could take it if he did that again. The knife handle was slick with sweat from the palm of her hand-

 _-or maybe his blood-_

-and she was terrified it would slip out of her grip and leave her with nothing. She turned it so the blade pointed toward him – and past that, toward herself – and pulled it in, trying to bury the blade in his chest. If she pushed hard enough it could've gone through him and into her, which would have been fine by her so long as he bled out first. He caught her wrist, and when she realized it was his arm shaking, not hers, she felt real, palpable hope, for the first time she could remember.

She could do this.

 _She could do this._

" _Fucker-_ " Carver shouted through gritted teeth. Amelia heard her own breathing – hyperventilating, nearly – over the shouting in the room.

"I got her, I fuckin' got her-" Troy stopped mid-sentence, shouting in what she hoped was pain. She didn't look, didn't get the time to look, couldn't look anywhere other than the back of Carver's head as she tried with everything she had to pull the knife toward the both of them-

-she heard gunfire, just one or two shots that ricocheted from the ceiling. Shouting, struggling, punches landing, swearing that sounded very familiar, since she'd heard the woman swear many times in the months she'd known her-

"I'm gonna-" Carver let out a low, angry sound when she sunk her fingers into his wounded shoulder and squeezed. "-gonna fucking _kill you-_ "

 _You first._

She felt him giving out, knew that the both of them could only keep this up for so long and he was the one losing blood, knew she only had to outlast him by a second but then he finally caught hold of her hair, reaching up and back until he trapped her ponytail in his fist and threw himself forward with more force than he'd used before, pitching her over his back with an infuriated scream-

-in the next second she was on the floor, square on her back with no air in her lungs. The knife wasn't in her hand anymore, having slid across the floor when the landing knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to breathe, struggled to think, finally forced herself to move, _fucking move-_

She dragged in a fast, desperate breath of air, rolled and started scrambling to her feet just as he was close enough to tower over her. She knew she shouldn't have turned her back on him, but she needed the knife, she needed it as much as she needed him dead-

-more screaming, swearing, the sounds of a struggle that involved more than two people. She recognized Troy's voice, crying out in pain and calling for help-

-so she reached out for it without looking back. She could hear heavy footsteps coming in her direction, labored breathing, a voice that was unmistakably Carver's all from behind her but she needed the knife first.

She got her hand around the grip, turning just in time to watch Clementine dive from her seat in front of the counter, throwing herself directly under his feet curled into a ball with her head tucked under her hands. Carver wasn't expecting it any more than she was, wasn't even looking down, and she watched his feet try to move with her in the way. His eyes went wide for a split second without losing any of the rage, making his face more terrifying than it already was. He went down hard, catching himself with his forearms flat on the hardwood.

Amelia moved, hoping that if she didn't have time to think then neither would he, coming for him when he'd barely gotten up on his knees, when one hand was still on the ground and he didn't have his balance yet to shove him back down. He hit the floor on one shoulder and Amelia found herself moving, clawing her way on top of him until she'd sat herself square on his stomach. She'd meant to pin his arms but there was no time so she fell back on leverage and pressure and unapologetic intent to kill. The knife's point hovered inches above his neck, about to sink into the soft spot between his clavicles if she just pushed _that much_ further-

-somewhere behind them, the sound of crashing furniture and a scream that was unmistakably Lilly's-

She wanted to scream again when she realized Carver was holding her off. Holding her up using only his arms and a wounded shoulder, even when she pushed harder, even as she leaned forward to use her body weight the force the knife lower.

 _Give up, just give up, just fucking-_

For all the times she'd called him a monster in her thoughts, she realized now, up close and sharing what she hoped were his last moments, that he'd only ever been a monster only in her head. Only in her imagination was he some creature who could see where he wasn't looking, who knew her thoughts and fears, who was somehow more capable of killing her than she was of killing him. He wasn't invulnerable, and she would never costume him or anyone else that way again. When he was stripped of his guns and reinforcements, he was just a man with a jugular as easily pierced as her own.

The shaking in his arms got more severe, more violent as the seconds ticked by, making the corner of Amelia's mouth twitch upwards in a cruel smirk that didn't belong to her-

- _until now-_

-as she stared into his face, ugly and twisted in rage and cruelty knowing it likely matched her own. She'd sink it down to the handle, any second now, maybe even pierce the wood floor on the other side-

She saw motion in her peripheral, felt someone coming up on her, looked up and over her shoulder just in time to watch the stock of Troy's rifle collide with her head. The world went dark. A shotgun blast of stars on a black canvas. They were pretty, she thought, the way they sparkled and simmered in the midst of nothing, until they fizzled out and left her in darkness.

 _easy kitty cat_

 _he drew first_

 _that's for our man_

 _if you insist_

 _if anything we should take you out for that_

 _it's here or nothing_

 _it's how the world works now_

 _i was trying to protect all of us_

* * *

"Hello, Amelia."

* * *

The voices started to fade in, distant and underwater.

Bonnie's was hesitant, cautious. "Is she…is she dead?"

Nate's was dismissive. Callous. "Nah. Look. She's breathing." A boot prodded her in the ribcage. She didn't move. Wasn't sure if her limbs would've listened if she tried. So she stayed where she was, her cheek flat on the floor while her brain swam circles in her skull.

Carver answered, and the calm in his voice made Amelia realize how badly she'd fucked up.

"Don't worry. She'll get there."

She recognized Kenny's, somewhere in the room. She didn't make out what he was saying. She heard words. The heavy, sharp sound of a fist hitting his face, or maybe a gun. Sarita cried out his name. That much she understood.

She lifted her head, propping her forearms underneath her body and looking down at the floor beneath her for the first time to see the blood. A lot of it. She realized her hands and her face were wet with it. Her fingers went absently to her stitches, and she felt wet, open flesh. Her hand dropped clumsily back to the floor, leaving her unsure if it was actually numb or if she just thought it was.

She should've had something to say about it. Nothing came to mind. Her own inner voice was silent, and staying that way.

Nick said her name. Twice. Then three times. His voice was shaking and she wanted to tell him it was okay, that his pain wouldn't last forever, but none of it came out. She looked over to him, slowly, slowly, spotting him on his knees with his hands bound in front. He was blurry but she could still tell it was him. He felt familiar, even an arm's reach away. He stared back at her like he didn't recognize her.

"Oh, God…"

"Something you want to say, Nick?" Carver rasped.

Amelia didn't think he was going to answer. She stared at him hard enough for her vision to clear up just a little, so hard it was giving her a headache-

- _that's not why you have a headache-_

-but she was able to see the whites of his eyes had gone red. He looked…wrong. Darker. He was radiating anger and misery in a way that could only be caused by a constant train of morbid and volatile thoughts. It was familiar, but not on him. She knew the sandpit he was sinking into. From the way he looked, she wasn't sure he'd ever come out.

"I'll kill you for this." His voice shook. "Just wait. I'll put a gun in your mouth and blow the back of your fucking head out."

Carver didn't answer right away. Amelia listened to his footsteps as he sauntered one, two, three steps across the floor. Then:

"That's one hell of a threat, son. I can't wait to see you follow up on it. It would mean you've done something in your life."

By the time he turned away from Nick and addressed the group, the world was starting to clear itself up again. The gravel in his voice gradually became clear as he said,

"Where's Luke? Finally cut and run, huh? Why am I not surprised?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Things stopped blurring into each other as much. Colors didn't quite look right. She turned her head, heavily, slowly, and saw Lilly, sat on the floor, hands tied. There was blood on her face and clothes but Amelia couldn't tell from here if it was hers.

"I warned you. I warned you not to follow him. And look where he's led you. But you're safe now. Everyone's coming home. As a family…"

Amelia tried to push herself up and semi-succeeded, spreading her fingers out in the blood puddle beneath her. Nick told her something urgent, his voice low and broken, "Amelia, _stay down-_ " The blood trickled down to the pool on the floor, dripping from her chin, from her lips, off of her nose. Not in drops. In thick, slow trails. She tasted it in her mouth, and spit it absentmindedly into the space where her head had just laid.

"Almost everyone." Carver finished, turning back to her. "You awake now, Amelia?" Even in her broken mind, she recognized the sound of a six-shooter being loaded, bullet-by-bullet. She wondered faintly why he'd reloaded all six. He'd only need one. She almost asked him. "I really wanted you to be here for this."

Rebecca's voice reached her harder and louder than the rest. "Bill, no-" It was overlapped by others, by something from Nick and something else from Bonnie but again, she heard Rebecca over the rest. "Don't you hurt her. I'll kill you for this, Bill! _I'll kill you_ ,"

"No you won't," Carver said, as condescending as he was cruel. "You're all bark and no bite, Rebecca. But you…" Even standing behind her, Amelia didn't need to look to know his next words were for her. She got the same chill running up her spine every time his attention was on her. Especially when she couldn't see him. "…you've got one hell of a bite, don't you? And no warning that it's coming. Quiet riot."

Amelia put weight on her hands, trying to stand. Her palm slipped in the blood and she went back down, leaving a long paint streak of red across the floor for as far as her arm reached.

"Under other circumstances, I'd respect it," she heard metal sliding against metal as he slid the action into place and pushed the hammer down. _Click._ "But you really… _really_ piss me off, sweetheart."

Even if she'd managed to stand, if she'd been coordinated enough to make a grab for a weapon, what would she have done? She started to ask herself the question and forgot what she was thinking halfway through. The thought trailed off into nothing, then into something about Clementine, something about how she had no regrets, not the first time and not the second time.

" _-I guess that's how it goes, then-_ "

She'd tried. She did everything she could. She'd decided a long time ago that this wasn't a game she was set up to win to begin with.

Carver went on, bringing her to the slow realization that she was only going to live for as long as he wanted to hear himself talk. "I got a feeling when I met you that you'd be far more trouble than you're worth. And look what you went and did. I'm never wrong about these things."

She closed her eyes and waited, thinking of all things that killing her was the smartest thing he'd do in his life.

She didn't want that to be her last thought. She shifted her thoughts to her sister, thinking it better to die dwelling on someone she loved instead. She tried to recall fuzzy memories of Christmas mornings and pillow forts and a treehouse, but didn't quite get there. They seemed far away. Incomplete.

She thought about Clementine, but didn't expect to hear her voice.

" _She's immune_."

The room went silent. Amelia half-expected to hear Carver's gun go off, sending a bullet into the back of her head regardless.

Amelia didn't want her getting his attention, regardless of the reason. "Clem, don't-"

" _Shut your mouth,_ " Troy shouted at her. "Or I swear to Christ I'll-"

"Enough," Carver silenced him with a hand in the air. He fixed Clementine with a puzzled, calculating stare that made Amelia want to stab him again. She didn't like him looking at her like that. She didn't like the two of them being in the same room. "What did you just say?" Amelia looked back to see Clementine fidgeting uncomfortably in the silence he left. "Think real carefully before you answer."

She hesitated, and Amelia could see her hands shaking. Rebecca put an arm around her, gripping her shoulder tightly in a way Amelia would remember. Now that she was looking closer she could see that Clem had been crying. She saw the red in her eyes, heard the sniffle in her breathing.

"She's immune." She spoke so quietly that she could be heard because the room was dead silent. "To the virus that makes you turn."

The room stayed that way. Behind him, Carver's people exchanged looks that ranged from confused to skeptical to dismissive. Amelia found herself looking for Nate's reaction. His face was unreadable.

Finally, Carver answered. He didn't put his gun away, or even lower it. Maybe a warning to Clementine that he'd execute Amelia on the spot if he decided she was lying. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Clementine drew a shaky breath. Even held eye contact, the way she did when she was trying to look like she was telling the truth. "She was bitten once. A long time ago. It didn't turn her."

She fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence, and took it to mean now was the time to volunteer more information. Amelia would have done the same in her sister's place; now wasn't the time to try to leverage what they knew.

"It's on her back." Clementine said carefully. "On the left."

"Well then," Carver slowly shifted his eyes down to Amelia, not far from his feet. "If you don't mind."

Amelia looked for Nick again before she moved. Again, he was staring like he didn't recognize her. She knew it was for a very different reason. She reached across her own body, right hand slowly and clumsily searching for the left side of the hem of her shirt.

The murmurs and questions from Carver's people overlapped. Her brain was too slow to single out any one of them and separate it from the rest. She heard a swear word she quickly forgot, someone said _not real_ and another said _ain't possible._ She remembered what it looked like, even unable to see it. Deep, blackened, permanently disfigured skin. A gnarled patch of death just beneath her shoulder blade.

Carver didn't say a word. The longer he stayed quiet, the more she thought he was reconsidering his decision not to shoot her in the back of the head.

"Amelia, is your sister telling me the truth?"

 _Is my answer going to mean anything?_ Anyone in her situation would've said _yes_ no matter what the truth was. She couldn't quiet gather the words to ask; something in her told her it wasn't a smart idea anyway. She dropped her head so it hovered above the floor between her elbows, unable to stomach looking at his face any longer, and nodded. Finally telling the truth she'd gone out of her way to hide only to have everyone around her doubt it.

"Then this is either the best day of your life or the worst."

He said it like she didn't already know.

He raised his voice. If she'd been sharp enough to pay more attention at the time she might have jumped. "Round 'em up. We're going back to camp."

She didn't move, vaguely aware that the people around her were being picked up by the arms and collars and walked out of the lodge. Seconds went by that might have been minutes. She wasn't sure. Eventually a pair of hands found her shoulders, grabbing her by the shirt; whoever it was made no secret of their disgust at all the blood she'd spilled.

"Come on… _shit…_ get up," Troy cursed as he forced her up to her feet. "I don't have all day,"

She knew she'd been cold to her. Dismissive and sarcastic. But the blood loss and strange pressure in her head had forced her to let go of her pride enough to admit she'd been hoping for Bonnie.

He swore again when her knees buckled, moving to catch her with both hands taking careless fistfuls of her shoulders. "God damnit…are you…" He grunted as he roughly forced her back to standing. "You tryin' to fuck with me?"

"Why would you try to fuck with me?" Amelia mumbled, frowning and genuinely confused at the question she thought she'd heard him ask.

"Fuckin' smartass…" he scowled at her. She thought they were going to start walking, was busy coordinating which foot she was going to put in front of the other since the ground was still tilted beneath her, when he held her – pulled her back, even – with a rough hand under one arm. "I could'a shot you, you know." He lowered his voice. "You owe me. You remember that."

She was slow to understand, trying not to sway too far to one side over the other knowing it would send her back to the floor. It took longer than it should have, but she got what he meant. Again, last to cross the finish line.

She remembered him punching her in the mouth, and remembered wanting to spit blood in his eye.

She didn't remember doing it. By the time Troy was running a hand over his face, streaking his cheek with bright red and swearing at her in outraged disgust, she'd only just finished thinking about how much she liked the idea. He grabbed her by the collar, yanking her in and holding her there when she expected to be hit or thrown.

"You went and fucked up here. You think you saved yourself?" His voice shook, tightening his grip on the neckline of her shirt. "You're going to wish I killed you."

Amelia glared back directly into his face, with unfocused eyes and a quiet mind fixated on the bodies strewn about the room, empty corpses that an hour ago had belonged to people she liked very much. "You're going to wish you killed me, too."

"Troy." Bonnie's voice tore his eyes away from hers and made him look to the front door. She looked cautiously between the two of them in a way that told Amelia she already knew what had been going on. "What's the holdup?"

He let her go with a shove, one that almost sent her flying back to the floor. "Nothing." He leveled his rifle at her, motioning with the barrel for her to walk to the door. "Move. Now."

Amelia took one step toward Bonnie, then another before the woman crossed the floor to meet her. She slipped an arm around Amelia's waist and guided her toward the door, leaving Amelia to wonder whether she planned to help her like this for the entire walk back to the foothills.

 _Going home. As a family._

She wondered what that meant to a man who didn't understand either word.


	21. Interlude: Hitchhiker

_Eighteen Months Ago_

 _Somewhere Outside Savannah's City Limits_

 _Step. Tsssh. Step. Tsssh. Step-_

Every passing step had Amelia more and more annoyed at the sound of her own limp. Her memory was hazy, but she recalled something about-

- _she cracked his fingers, prying them from her own neck and bending them hard out of place_ , _shattering two, maybe three-_

 _-he screamed like an animal and threw her, sending her tumbling over an armchair, landing spine-first on the carpet and crushing her own knee under her body in a way it wasn't supposed to go-_

The sound had driven her to an edge. The persistent, rhythmic dragging, to which she had no choice but to listen indefinitely, when all she wanted was to walk in silence had her feeling…

She couldn't find the word for it.

Then again, it wasn't the noise that had her feeling this way.

 _"-she wouldn't hurt a fly-"_

 _"-you have to find Christa and-"_

 _"-please don't make me leave you-"_

 _Blackness and retching and handcuffs and screaming-_

The handcuffs still hung from her right wrist, broken on one end.

She stopped. Something in her head prodded, reminded her that she didn't have time to kill if she was going to reach the state line before Christa and Omid and Clem-

- _they're not going to wait for you-_

-but she did it. Just to hear nothing, even for a moment.

The road in front of her stretched ahead for miles, straight and deserted and littered with the dead. And for some reason she couldn't come up with, she wasn't one of them. Her hand wandered to her own ribcage, her fingertips feeling along the edge of her newest scar. The skin felt hot. Angry and painful to the touch, as if it was still sick. The last part of her to fight off the infection. First in, last out.

She wiped the blood on the leg of her jeans, and kept walking.

 _Step. Tsssh. Step. Tsssh. Step. Tsssh-_

 _Dead girl walking._

It was funny, when she thought about it. She was a walker, and also wasn't. She should have died, and didn't. Certainly felt like she had, if only on the inside. The irony stirred up a giggle in her chest, almost sent her into an uncontrolled, manic laughing fit.

She felt tilted. Not quite right, some place in her body, in some way she couldn't describe. Maybe her heart. Maybe her gut. Maybe her head. She was a day-

-days? She didn't know-

-past the worst night of her life, and the nightmare wasn't over. Not until she reached the imaginary line someone somewhere had drawn in the sand to separate Georgia from its neighboring states. Because if she didn't beat them there they would leave without her because who waits for a dead girl and she wouldn't know where to find them after that. They'd disappear into the ruins of the United States and that sick fuck with the bullet in his head would still ruin her life from his shallow grave in the Marsh House-

- _it's more like a shallow closet, really-_

-because even dead, he made sure she never saw her sister again and if that happened Amelia would have an uncontrollable need to do something drastic and no one to take it out on but herself and-

She stopped herself, and took a shuddering breath.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that. And at the same time wanted to see it for the same reason she'd never been able to look away from fireworks or car wrecks.

She knew a light push would send her spiraling, past reason and fear and things that kept her alive and straight into madness. Impulsiveness and destructiveness and a full implosion of everything she'd tried to hold together since the morning Clem went missing. With her anchor gone, her only reason to show care and foresight and regard for her own safety was somewhere in the wind. Around sixty miles away. Soon to be hundreds.

She kept walking. She was alone and unarmed, filthy and empty. Drenched in blood that belonged to her and blood that did not and deeply, morbidly afraid that she would miss her sister at the last meeting place they'd ever arranged.

Fragile. The word she'd been looking for.

Not fragile like flowers or glass. Fragile like a grenade without a pin.

 _Handle with care._

She heard the motor of an approaching truck getting louder, and kept walking. They would stop if they wanted to. They would shoot her if they wanted that, too. She had a handgun with no clip and no bullets-

 _-the radiator screamed, metal on stone, carving deep scars into the concrete floor. Thin, jagged lines punctuated by little piles of ground rock where Amelia had stopped, unable to go any further in a single drag. She stopped once she was in the booth, an arm's length away from the twice-dead security guard. Her free hand wandered over his belt, across a wallet full of worthless paper and a walkie talkie she never wanted to see again. She vaguely remembered a time when she used to mutter an apology before doing this._

 _Her fingers closed around a key ring, ripping it with enough force and impatience to tear it from his belt loop. She looked over each of the four keys on the ring and knew they wouldn't fit. She tried them anyway._

 _"No…no, no-" She checked the belt again. Dipped into each of his pockets – even barrel rolled his corpse just to check the back ones – and found nothing. She pulled his handgun from his hip. It was light. Tilting it upside-down, she could see into the grip, straight into the chamber. No magazine._

 _"Mother-" She stopped short. Clenched both fists in an immediate and hot spike of anger and punched him once in the chest. "-fucker!"_

 _Sat on the floor, she swung her gaze out toward the garage doors reaching from ceiling to floor. The only thing keeping the dead out. She could hear them. See the shadows of their feet shuffling and dragging in the thin slice of light below the door._

 _Propped against the wall, on the other side of the room was a hammer._

-and wasn't going to be able to stop them from doing either. So she didn't turn around, not until-

" _BANG._ "

She waited. Stopped and looked sideways just enough to see the man in the driver's seat of the old beater Chevy that had pulled up next to her. He wore a hat. It was all she noticed and all she cared to notice. She didn't plan on being around him long.

His truck, on the other hand-

"I just killed you."

 _Unfortunately, you didn't._

She would look back on today as the earliest she could remember thoughts like that creeping to the surface when she wasn't paying attention. Bitter, self-destructive ideas that she didn't think she meant but wasn't sure anymore. It would happen many times after, but this was the first.

"You're either stupid as fuck or you think you're tough shit. Or both, I guess." No comment. There had been days – recent days – when she'd thought both of those things to be true. She finally turned to face the truck and look at him. She thought about throwing him the standard _I don't want any trouble_ but that never stopped her from finding it anyway. "You keep on like that and you'll get killed eventually. Ain't none of my business."

"Can I get a ride?" she said, well aware of what she was asking. As she said it she watched a lightning-fast slideshow of a dozen horrifying ways this could end, half of them ending with her killing him and half the other way around. Every one of the paled next to the fact that this man had a running truck, one that could get her to her destination in an hour, compared to three days. She may or may not have been about to catch Clementine at the pace she was going. If she had a truck, she knew she would.

And she'd risk her life for that. Or kill for it.

The stranger-

- _don't call him that, don't call anyone that ever again-_

-changed his posture, smugness and leisure fading – if only a little – into assessment. Caution. She wondered if it would be presumptuous to think she was guessing his thoughts; that her eagerness to get into his car was making him second-guess whether he should let her in. He frowned and looked her over with a face that didn't look inherently mean but could probably go there in a second. She'd seen the same look in her own.

"Where're you trying to go?"

"State line."

There was a silence, and Amelia pointed in the direction she'd been walking. Down the long, arrow-straight road that disappeared into the horizon.

"What for?"

 _None of your fuckin' business, that's what._

"Careful." He said. The way the word rolled out quick and light didn't distract from the warning behind it. "These ain't times to go pissing off strangers,"

She froze. Replayed the last five seconds in her head once, twice, realizing she'd spoken out loud, and realizing he'd actually said what he said. She felt a grin spread across her face like a crack in a windshield, erratic and sudden and wide. She should have been worried that she'd spoken without thinking, without even realizing it until someone told her, but a laugh stirred in the middle of her chest, toxic bubbles rushing to a boiling surface because he had no idea. Her sister brained a man with a lamp and she left a corpse rotting in a closet and she might never see her again and _he had no fucking idea._ The irony was too much, even for her.

"Oh." He narrowed his eyes, watching her stifle her giggling into her hand like he was watching something he might see at a circus. A sword-swallower or a woman folding herself in ways her spine shouldn't have been able to bend. "You're not tough shit." There was understanding in the way he blinked. Some clarity in the way nodded slowly while she took a sharp inhale, out of breath and trying to collect herself enough to speak. "You're just fuckin' crazy. Full-on nutcase…"

Finally, she managed a ragged breath. Her stomach was sore. "Thanks for the warning, dude," _Where were you three fucking months ago?_ She shook her head, not about to explain. _You had to be there._ "I already pissed off the wrong stranger. Can I get a ride or not?"

He considered it. Amelia knew the look of someone pretending to mean what they said, but didn't see it on him.

"I don't know…you're obviously off your fuckin' rocker." He inched the bill of his hat up just enough to scratch at his hairline. "And not in the hot, weird-in-the-sack way. I'm talking the needles-and-straitjackets kind of way. No…" His eyes gave her a cautious once-over, head to toe. Taking in the cuffed wrist and the bruised face and clothes covered in the black tar-like substance she hoped he'd assume was mud. "…offense."

Amelia tried not to snort. He didn't care who he offended any more than she did. "None taken." The gun was out before she even tried to come up with a better plan. Leveled at his head through the passenger side window. Empty and useless, but he didn't need to know that. "Get out of the truck."

Something changed in his face, something dark and sudden. A crack in his personality, an abyss that opened in the blink of an eye and swallowed the person he'd seemed to be until now. She didn't like it. Anger looked volatile on him. The center of his attention was a dangerous place to be when he was like this. She could tell. She remembered Christa saying something similar about her once. Sometime after-

- _she grabbed a handful of Ben's hair and launched his head forward into the window, leaving a fist-sized crater of cracked glass and blood-_

It didn't scare her so much as it sparked that same morbid fascination she thought she'd already put to bed. That bored, needling feeling somewhere in her that made her want to tempt fate. Kick the bomb just to cause an explosion, because some volatile whispering in the back of her head was telling her it was even better to watch the blast from the center.

"That ain't very fuckin' nice, kid."

She didn't smile. She wasn't joking. "I'm not a kid, I'm not nice, and I just need a ride." She gestured for him to open his door and step away with a movement of her useless weapon. "Out."

He did it so calmly that she started to wonder then and only then if she'd fucked up. She kept the barrel on him as he stepped out of the driver's side without closing the door. He moved around the hood of the truck, motor still running, with the posture and speed of someone who either knew he wasn't about to be shot or wouldn't have cared if he was.

He didn't stop at a distance, like she expected. He took one, two, three steps into her arm's reach. until he backed her against the passenger door with the barrel pressed to his chest. She realized too late that even if the gun had been loaded, she'd still made a grave error in judgment.

Amelia muttered, a near-silent whisper. "Fuck."

"Yeah. 'Fuck' is right."

He snatched the gun from her hand in a single, fluid motion. Disarmed her in a spiteful grab that could only be done by someone who didn't consider it – or her – a threat. It took him all of the next three seconds to notice the gun was light. He turned it down, looking into the empty space where the magazine should have been.

Amelia waited, leaning back against the passenger side door. She crossed her arms, bristling with impatience while he looked from the gun to her, then back to the gun again trying to figure out how to respond. She wondered vaguely if he was about to kill her for threatening him. Maybe pistol-whip her with the gun since she hadn't given him any bullets to shoot her with. If he stood like this long enough, she'd make another attempt for the truck. Maybe head butt him in the nose and just run for the driver's side. One stupid idea deserved another. She didn't care which of them happened, only that _something_ happened in the next thirty seconds because the waiting was making her itch behind the eyes-

"Are you fuckin' shitting me with this?" He asked her suddenly.

The pause that came after suggested the question wasn't rhetorical.

"No?"

He shook his head, a grin tugging one corner of his mouth up into an expression of mixed reactions even he didn't seem to understand yet. A part of him found it funny, that much she could tell. "You're gonna threaten me with an empty gun?" Again, he waited for an answer. She didn't give one this time. "I almost killed you, girly!"

"Whoops."

"'Whoops.'" he repeated, laughter bubbling beneath his voice. Amelia stared, reaching for the door handle behind her back, thinking about yanking it open and slamming the window into his face. Now she understood the look he'd given her during her laughing fit. On someone else, it was easier to see. Easier to be mildly disturbed seeing laughter where it didn't belong, at something that wasn't funny to her like it was to him. "Fuckin' _whoops…_ "

He recovered, calm again when he asked, "What's your name?"

She watched him carefully. If he'd been about to attack her, he might have done it already. She reminded herself that thinking his decisions made any sense was a hell of an assumption to make. But he looked thoughtful. Like he was considering something. Amelia had an idea of what, since she'd only asked him for one thing.

"Amelia."

He snorted. "Old lady name, but alright." She couldn't say she disagreed. If it was a name for women who'd lived into their seventies and eighties, women who had children who had children, then it was certainly one she would never fit. She couldn't guess when and where she'd fall short, but she knew she'd never make it that far. No one did anymore.

The man threw his hands out in a gesture brief and lazy enough that she could only recognize it as a shrug. "Alright. Hop in."

Amelia should have moved. It was what she wanted, all she wanted. But the confusion was maddening, the curiosity like a gun to her head. A loaded one. "Seriously?"

He dropped her gun into the truck. Tossed it through the open passenger window like a hollow, metal frisbee. "You're gonna get eaten out here otherwise and I'm bored." He reached for the door handle, and she finally moved to step out of the way.

"You're bored." She might have sounded as incredulous as she felt had she not been so exhausted. Listening to herself, she sounded more irritated than confused.

"That's what I said." He matched her tone, his words hardening as the ease and humor about him disappeared, if only for a second. She expected him to open the door, but he lingered where he stood, gripping the handle without using it. "Don't try that shit again. You try to steal from me again, I'll get your throat out. I don't care who you are or where you're trying to go, you get me?"

She should have been more careful with her words. She could have been quiet. So far she'd only seen strange and erratic things from this man, whoever he was, and everything about this conversation was hissing at her to _tread carefully_ around him, but something else in her only wanted her sister back, the same part of her that saw how serious he was and just didn't fucking care.

"I promise not to steal your stolen truck."

His face relaxed, smiling half a smile and giving her a nod of approval. "I hope you mean that." The door was open, a metal and plastic barrier between the two of them that almost hit her across the face as it swung out. "Come on. Scoot."

* * *

She was staring up at a light. She couldn't tell if it was daylight or something fake and fluorescent but she knew the colors around her looked wrong. Drained.

She was laid out flat on a hard surface. She remembered something about her head, tried reaching up to touch her own face but a hand gently pushed hers back down, leaving it pinned to the floor at her side.

There were voices. Familiar voices with accents out of a cartoon, she thought, and-

One was more familiar than the rest. Smaller and kinder and very worried.

"Amelia-"

"Hold her still." She still knew Carlos' voice when she heard it. If someone had asked her why he sounded like he was underwater, she couldn't have told them.

She hadn't realized she'd been moving.

* * *

Amelia crossed her arms over her stomach, hoping to lean enough pressure to make the nausea rolling around inside her go away. She thought she'd thrown up the last of the black stuff. Then again she had no reason to think it would only happen once. She imagined hacking it up onto the bench between the driver and passenger seats. She'd probably find it funnier than he would.

She slouched down on the passenger side, sinking down until she sat low in the seat. She almost couldn't see over the dash, which was all fine and good to her since all she wanted was to wait out the last of straggling symptoms from the night before. The sick stomach. The headache. She'd just started to wonder if the violent shivering had run its course when she felt her insides shaking, bringing with it the familiar and agitating sensation of freezing and sweating at the same time.

A look over her left shoulder, one that was supposed to be quick and subtle, showed her the man was watching, without even trying to look like he wasn't. He looked confused. Maybe mildly disgusted.

She was about to give him the automatic defense – a pointed _the fuck are you looking at_ – when he nodded to her feet, bringing her attention to a shapeless lump of fabric balled up and thrown into the foot well. "Found that in a rolled car a way's back. Take it."

She looked to him, then back to the floor, expecting him to say something else because people, especially strangers, didn't just give things away for nothing. When she'd hesitated long enough to realize he was done talking, she reached down, pulling up what she found was an oversized sweatshirt.

"Yeah?" she said, waiting for the _but._ The _and._ The _sure, if-_. The unnamed price that came with everything that looked like it was free.

He didn't look away from the windshield. Lifted one shoulder in something too lazy to be called a shrug. She didn't miss the way his nose wrinkled when he slid a quick look to her blood-soaked clothes. "I ain't gonna want it back."

She opted for politeness. She could stomach it as long as she kept it to three words or less. "Thanks."

His thoughts already seemed to be somewhere else. "Mhm." He ignored her while she unbundled the sweater. He looked uninterested in what she was doing until she held it up by the shoulders, staring at the emblem on the front. "What?"

She didn't answer, running a finger over the Georgia State initials, emblazoned proudly with the school colors. It made her feel something she couldn't name. Some mix of nostalgia and whatever else she could call the sadness that came with missing things that were long in the past and long gone.

"It's where I went to school."

"Well, la-dee-fuckin'-dah."

She shoved her arms through the sleeves and pulled it over her head, finding a silver lining that she wouldn't have to look at the emblem for as long as she was wearing it.

"Name's Nate." He talked to the windshield. "Thanks for, uh, asking…" She recognized the point he'd meant to make, and hoped she hadn't done anything to make him think she felt rude for not asking.

He reached under the steering wheel with his free hand, pawing around the pedals looking for something. He grunted as he pulled back up, his hand wrapped around the neck of a forty. A brand she didn't recognize. It occurred to her that the green tint to the bottle had been darker, once upon a time when the bottle had been full. He tipped it back, sending what was left – maybe a quarter of the bottle – splashing around, clinking against the glass.

He hid his grimace well. She knew there was one, but wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been looking for it. He held it out, one hand on the wheel and half his attention on the road in front of them.

"Here you go."

She rubbed her eyes with her palms, pinching the bridge of her nose and willing the headache pounding mercilessly behind her forehead to go away. A variation of the truth was truthful enough. Here, anyway. "Already hung-over."

"Best cure for a hangover's more booze."

She looked up, finally moving her head to look directly at him in the driver's seat. He wasn't wrong. She took it – moving faster than she'd needed to, like he might bite if she left her hands near him for too long – and knocked back half of what was left.

She didn't hide her shot-face as well as he had. She shuddered hard enough to make him chuckle. "Hell of a kick, but it takes the edge off."

Right again. The warmth started in her fingertips and radiated up into her face. She felt her cheeks flush and realized too late she could have checked the ABV on the bottle-

- _fucking 48%-_

-before going in headfirst like that. Like nearly every other time she'd drank in her life, it had been poorly planned and irresponsible but it was also the first time in the last six months she could remember feeling anything pleasant. As a coping mechanism, she was starting to see the appeal.

She tried not to dwell on it, knowing she'd kill the bottle if she thought about it for too long. She handed it back to him before she could. He took it and dropped it back into his foot well, apparently saving the last few ounces for a day rainier than this one.

"So, uh." He passed time by tapping his hands in rhythm on the steering wheel, rapping his fingertips between eleven and one o'clock. Stuck a finger in his ear, scratched around, and wiped what he'd found on the front of his jacket, none of it discretely. She couldn't tell if he was trying to come up with conversation, or hesitating to say something he already had in mind. Either way, she wished he wouldn't. "Who'd you piss off?" He slid a glance sideways at her and shook his head. She wouldn't have been surprised if he whistled. "Someone chewed you the hell up and spit you back out."

She hoped that if her answers were brief and boring enough, he'd change the subject. Or stop talking to her altogether.

"The dead."

He chucked. Shook his head again. "Nice try. Those freaks don't bleed red anymore." He looked sideways again, making a quick once-over of the blood stains still visible below the waist. "That's all you. Maybe your stranger?"

She stayed quiet, hoping her silence was enough to tell him to take a fucking hint.

He didn't get it. Maybe on accident, probably on purpose. "Come on, you've got to have a good story."

"He took my sister."

She spoke without thinking, or knowing why. She had a vague idea about sharing being like draining poison from her veins, painful and bloody but leaving her better off when it was over.

That, and she wasn't going to know him long. She intended to ditch him by the end of the day. One or both of them would die young regardless, and take all her secrets with them. Maybe the question wasn't _why_ but _why not?_

He nodded, mumbling some non-word that came out sounding like _mmf._ He waited for her to continue and got silence. "And?"

She just stared forward at the dash. Her next words weren't coming up easily and she had _no_ desire to force them. She'd been wrong to think she would go into the details today. It was too long of a story. Too crowded with people she didn't want to think about, people who either died far too soon or not nearly soon enough.

"I took her back."

"…alright then." Nate raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the road. She knew it was intentional, since the road in front of them was empty for miles. Nothing to look at and nothing to drive into. "Don't drown me in the details."

She wouldn't.

"He still alive?"

She only turned her head to look at him. She didn't have any more words for him. Her story wasn't one full of surprise endings and plot twists; she wasn't about to tell him what could've been easily guessed.

He whistled, low and slow. "That's cold. Stone fuckin' cold." Back to the road, driving in silence. Amelia considered counting mile markers, or dashes of the lane that separated theirs from the other. Or corpses they passed on the shoulder. "You're a tough lil' nut, Amy, I'll give you that."

One…two…three…

She spotted another, mangled and facedown in the bushes. Trying to crawl missing a leg and most of one arm.

"It wasn't just you and your sister, right? You must have been with a crew-"

"Can we just drive?"

He snorted. "'We?' You want to sit in my lap?" He laughed again, to himself, at her, she didn't know and didn't care.

"I'm going to make this really clear." She pulled her eyes away from the dash, away from the glove compartment that she'd have bet was hiding a gun and looked directly at him. "If you try to put hands on me, you and me _will_ go at it. I'll try my best to kill you, and before you start making jokes my best is better than you think. Maybe you'll win. Maybe you won't. But if I can't end your life I'll at least ruin your fucking day."

The alternative hung in the air, having already been said. _Or we can just drive._

She could see in his face, not even three words after _kill_ that he didn't take her seriously. She might not have taken herself seriously, if she hadn't been there to witness the last three months of her own life. She might have sounded funny to someone who didn't know what she'd learned from everyone who'd come tearing into her life before he did. She clearly did to him.

She wondered if he'd still laugh when her fingers were in his eyes.

"Since we're bein' so… _clear_ with each other…" she watched his face change, just like it had before she'd gotten into the truck. A crack in the ground that opened up quickly and silently. It swallowed up the perpetual smirk and the morbid sense of humor and left only a man who'd probably committed more murders in his life than she had, and was willing to prove it. "If you threaten me again I might just take the safe route and kill you. Because you are _clearly_ unstable as hell."

Amelia watched him carefully, before she sank back into her seat and went back to watching the road. As long as they understood each other.

Silence. Mile markers passed them by. One, then another.

Five dead walkers…six…had she left off on four or five?

"Look, I'm…" he hesitated, something she hadn't expected from him since hesitation was for people who were careful with their words. He scowled at the windshield. "…sorry…if I freaked you out, or…"

She wasn't sure where this was going. Her first thought was that it was a setup. A long game leading up to a sarcastic punchline of epic proportions. Real and false sincerity were getting difficult for her to tell apart. She watched him in her peripheral and waited.

"We all got our own way of…coping with shit. I was just screwin' around. I didn't think you'd take it like…whatever." He looked out the driver's side window, making her think the windshield wasn't distant enough for him. Then, he was back. "I was serious when I said I'd kill you. But you seem alright, and I'd rather not put one in your head. So don't make me."

Sure.

"Whatever."

He nodded, one arm draped lazily over the steering wheel, tapping an inconsistent rhythm with his fingers again. "Whaaatever…" he mumbled.

Seven…she thought. She'd lost count again.

"Hey, Amy."

She didn't answer right away. She didn't like the tone of his voice. If she wasn't sure whether his words were a setup before, she was sure now. He might as well have said _knock knock._ She didn't answer but she looked, if for no reason other than to keep an eye on him. Whatever his joke was, it was going to be unfunny at best and fucking dangerous at worst.

His mouth twitched the way it did on someone who was trying not to smile. "You bored?"

She almost shook her head, but avoided it. She didn't want to give a _yes/no_ answer to a _yes/no_ question. Whatever game he was playing, she wanted him to know he was doing it alone. "What-"

Nate stepped on the gas. Floored it, leaving Amelia thinking he was about to wrap them around a tree while the momentum pressed her back deep into the cushion of the seat. But he brought the truck to a screeching stop as quickly as he'd sped it up, slamming the brakes hard enough that Amelia almost knocked her head into the dash.

She looked at him, incredulous. "The fuck are you-"

A loud _slam_ just to her right made her jump, got her to look over her shoulder at the walker pressing itself into the passenger window, rotten palms flat against the glass. She brought her legs up onto the seat, putting her feet between the door – the walker – and herself while scooting back along the seat to gain distance.

"Are you _fucking-_ " she cut herself short, watching it. It snarled and gnashed its teeth at her against the glass, no longer able to tell that there was a barrier between her and it.

She looked down at the door, eyes running over the plastic interior looking for the only thing that could've made it worse, hoping of all things that this asshole didn't have power windows-

"Here, I'll help you out," he said, as her window began to crawl down into the crevice within the door. The corpse snaked its arms through the crack, which widened when Nate didn't let off the window control. He didn't until the window was down completely and the walker was reaching in shoulders-deep, grabbing at her ankles and slipping every time she kicked her feet. "Have at it, girly."

She pulled her feet out of its grip again and again, floored because she didn't know her blood could reach its boiling point this quickly. Her heart pounded, not with fear or adrenaline or any of the reactions she'd become accustomed to but with anger and vindictiveness and an overwhelming urge to break something. He thought this was a joke. Thought the Stranger was a joke, thought _she_ was a joke, clearly, since he seemed to think endangering her life was some kind of punchline. This was what he'd stopped the car for. This was why she wasn't getting any closer to Clementine but sitting in a shit-cheap car and listening to him laugh at her like any part of this was funny.

She leaned forward for a quick second, just long enough to pop the latch on the door, planted on foot flat on the handle, and kicked hard, all rage and no restraint. The door flew out, the frame of the open window slamming into the walker's forehead-

-Nate's laughter gave way to a " _Woah-_ "-

The impact was enough to send the walker stumbling out into the lane and the door flying back into place, clicking shut. Amelia went for the handle again, snapping it open impatiently and stepping out of the car. She went straight for the walker, no time to reconsider, no time to calm herself and think carefully about her actions. She was angry and angry made her stupid and stupid got people killed but she didn't _fucking care_ -

-she grabbed the walker – once a blonde-haired woman about her own height – by the collar of her torn flannel and pulled her back toward the car, bending her at the waist and throwing her head first into the body of the truck. The skull left a dent in the bed. The walker dropped face down onto the pavement, growling a broken growl, reaching out with reflexes far too slow. Amelia picked it back up with a handful of its hair, half-expecting it to come out in her fingers, pulling its upper body just enough to level it with the open doorway of the car with her free hand on the door and-

 _SLAM_

 _SLAM_

 _SLAM_

She knew that was enough. Knew the cracked skull and limp arms meant she was done, she'd won, it was over. Knew it and ignored it while Nate overcame his shock and whistled again and grew a smile she didn't know what to make of.

"Yeah," he clapped once, twice, three times. "Amy-"

 _SLAM_

"-knows how to-"

 _SLAM_

" _-_ party!"

 _SLAM_

She dropped the body only when the skull was broken wide open, dripping thick, slow liquid she knew wasn't all blood. She left it laying at her feet, breathing heavily and stepping back into the truck. She wondered if Nate would tell her to get back out, before remembering that it was a stupid thought. Anyone else might. And somehow she'd happened across the one person who wouldn't.

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and rubbing her hands over her face. The anger rush was over. All the energy she'd found in a spike of white-hot rage leaving her as quickly as it had come.

"Can you. Fucking. Drive." Now all she had was a need to get to the state line before her sister. It was all she'd ever had, she realized, now that the rage was no longer there to distract her. "I'm in a hurry."

"Can do, Amykins." He shifted the truck into gear and peeled back onto the road, leaving her to reach out and pull her door shut when they were already moving. "Can do."

* * *

She remembered swearing. Loudly. Angrily. Repeatedly because she hoped with each one that this would be the _fuck_ or _God damn it_ to make the throbbing in her head stop.

She remembered her arms being useless, every time she tried to lift a hand to grab someone or take a swing they stayed glued to the floor, held down by a knee or another hand pressing enough weight in on her wrists to cut off circulation.

"Amelia, _that's enough_ -" she heard, more than once.

She wanted to say the same in return _that's enough drilling into my goddamn head_ but the words would only come out in screams.

* * *

She hadn't said a word to him for the better part of an hour before they pulled into the gas station, and didn't intend to for hours after. Nate killed the engine and leaned back in his seat, passing time working up to what was about to be his third attempt to start a conversation since she'd gone silent.

"Don't be mad." It was dismissive. Exasperated with the amount of time she'd committed to giving him the silent treatment. _Come on, Amy, really_. As if she was the irrational one between the two of them.

At worst, it was a tie.

"Fine. Be mad. See if I give a shit."

She'd propped an elbow on the door and tried not to smirk. She thought about putting her feet up on the dash. She could wait. Longer than he could, she'd have bet. _See if I give a shit._ Sure. Nate liked to talk, she'd decided. He liked to _hear himself_ talk, which wasn't any fun without someone to listen and argue back.

He pointed to the dash in front of her. "There's a gun in the glove. Give it here."

Sure.

She popped the lever, grabbed the handgun inside, and threw it over her shoulder, all without looking at him. Maybe it'd hit him in the face. Maybe he'd reach fast enough to catch it but not without pulling the trigger and sending a bullet flying into the cab. Any of the above was fine by her.

She heard the gun clattering against something, heard him grunt and hoped it was because the gun caught him by surprise and hit him in the nose. " _Come on,_ it was a _joke_." He said, getting his hand around the grip and dropping the magazine out to count the bullets. He pushed it back into place with a solid, heavy _shhk._ "I wasn't gonna let it get-"

"It could have killed me, you asshole," Amelia muttered, stared out her window, running her eyes across the empty diner behind the fuel pumps.

"Now _that's_ a joke," he said, pulling her attention away from the diner's dark windows. "You weren't scared of that thing, you damn near-"

"You've never seen anyone pulled through a window before?"

"I mean, yeah, but that's-"

 _-BANG-_

Both their windows shattered in what seemed like the same second. Through the shock and flying glass and the split-second of blank thought while she tried to understand what the _fuck_ had just happened-

"- _getthefuckdown-_ "

-she watched Nate go for his door handle and dive out onto the pavement. She flattened herself down onto the fabric seats, realizing as she crawled her way over the layer of broken safety glass that the windows hadn't broken at the same time, but were shattered one after another by the bullet that flew through the truck without hitting either of them-

Amelia dragged herself out of the cab, dropping down to join him on the ground and sweeping the glass down with her. It scattered across the ground at their feet as Amelia pressed her back against the truck, sure to put herself behind the rear tire in case their attacker thought to shoot low.

"Fuck…" she muttered, but the first time wasn't enough. They weren't just fucked, they were _fucked,_ capital-F _Fucked._ She swore not at Nate and not even at the gunman taking shots at her, but at herself, for the choices she'd made that led her here, reaching all the way back to _we get that boat_ \- " _Fuck_ -"

Nate looked puzzled in a way she'd only seen on him once. "You haven't been shot at in three months?"

 _Well._

 _I mean…_

 _Yeah._

But she wasn't about to admit it. She shook her head. "I shouldn't have come with you."

"Yeah well." Nate said it like her words and all the weight they carried rolled right off of his shoulders. "It's too fuckin' late now."

 _Did he just fucking shrug_ -

Whatever answer she may have had was silenced, violently pushed out of her head as her attention was drawn away by the gunfire. A bullet ricocheted against the passenger door. Another clipped the rearview mirror, cracking its surface and knocking it from its hinges.

"We have to get around the side of the building." He crouched behind the driver's side tire, inching his head past the bumper just far enough to peek at the shooter. Amelia noticed the way he was balanced on his toes, and considered shoving him. "Go from cover to cover." He turned back to face her, closing the window of opportunity she was sure she didn't want, despite the fact that she was still thinking about it.

He put a hand out, leaving Amelia to stare at the gun he was offering her. "You can cover me first. You cover me, then I'll cover you. Or if you want to go first that's fine, too." She took it without answering, remembering that even silent answers could be misleading.

He said something along the lines of _keep his head down_ and _wait until_ and _throw the gun_ , every word dancing vaguely around her head without meaning anything.

"Sure." She answered, taking a guess at whatever instructions he'd given her because some part of her was already whispering that it wasn't going to matter.

Then she was staring down the sight, barrel aimed at the dead center of Nate's back. If she leaned forward, she'd press it right between his shoulder blades.

He glanced back once, then again when he recognized what he was looking at. " _Come on!_ Are you _serious?_ " He turned, facing her with one knee down on the pavement. "That's good. Good one, kid." He might've been waiting for her to say something. She wasn't planning on it. The gun point-blank in his face said more than enough for her. "Come on…" And then, of all things: "I know you."

She didn't like the certainty behind the words. She spat out her answer- _no you don't-_ dismissive and bitter. Tried to avoid thinking that one of them was bluffing, and then asking herself whom.

"You don't take shit like this and walk away." He nodded at his truck, at the gunman still planting bullets in the passenger side from across the parking lot. "You want to get this fucker as much as I do."

 _Wrong on both counts._ "I want to get to the state line." She tried to ignore the way her trigger finger itched at the joint, out of some kind of need to shoot something, anything, anyone. But she didn't have time for that. She could argue with Nate for the rest of the night, engage the shooter in a gun fight and then a knife fight and then a fist fight if it came to that. But she'd spent the night miles out from the state line. She'd miss the sunrise and her sister with it.

Clementine first. "Good luck with this."

Nate's face darkened again, and his next words hit the concrete like nails dropping, hard and pointed. "You're just gonna take my gun and turn tail?" She knew the game he was playing even before his next words came out. He was prodding at her, maybe even hoping she was dense enough to do what he wanted just to prove him wrong. "Didn't peg you for a coward."

She made her own words just as venomous, sharping them on a whetstone made of grief and guilt left over from the people who'd come into her life – and left it – before he did. "I'd leave it if I didn't think you'd shoot me in the back."

"Funny, seein' how you're the one with a gun in _my_ face…"

"Don't make this worse than it already is." _You've done enough._ She managed not to say it out loud, but her night had been thoroughly fucked thanks to him-

- _never mind the fact that it wasn't his fault he picked a gas station that had apparently been taken over by trigger-happy squatters-_

-and the first step in her damage-control plan – a fragmented and panicked one, but a plan all the same - was to cut and run. Ditch any and all liabilities. Leave Nate behind and hope he wouldn't follow her and bring his specific brand of mentally unstable bullshit with him.

 _Because he's the only one of the two of you who's not quite right upstairs._

Nate's face was unreadable, but more calm than she was comfortable with. Whether it was because he was used to staring down the barrels of firearms aimed in his face, or like a psychopath, he wasn't capable of feeling fear, she didn't know and didn't care to know. It wasn't impossible that the answer was both.

"Either give me the gun or do something with it, because we both know you're not gonna-"

 _BANG_ Amelia fired a single round somewhere over Nate's shoulder, the words _shouldn't have said that_ ringing in her ears as the recoil reverberated through her palm. They overlapped with Nate's " _Fucking shit-_ " shouted with a full-body flinch, followed by tense hands and a glare that, when Amelia looked long enough, was more annoyed than angry. " _Really?_ "

"Next one goes-"

"Amelia, _cut the shit,_ " In the next second, his hand was around her wrist and lifting her arm up so that the gun pointed far over his head, leaving her free to shoot again if she didn't mind firing into the sky. Amelia glared, realizing she'd been wrong to think she was faster than he was-

- _and wrong to think he couldn't take that gun away from her if he tried-_

-and suddenly remembering that warning shots were for people who weren't prepared to shoot to kill. If she had any real resolve to kill him then and there, she'd have done it, and he knew that.

"Look, I need you right now, okay-"

Under other circumstances, she might've thought about his words long enough to consider how hard they must have been to say. She wasn't expecting them. That didn't mean she wasn't prepared to dismiss them. "-that's a shame-"

He cut her off "-this _ain't the time_ to fuck around. Okay, I was an asshole before," he scowled, and Amelia understood why. They were pressed for time. She still didn't drop the gun. "But you know I was just trying to loosen you up. You've obviously spilled some blood before. I thought-"

He stopped, and her thoughts wandered to the sniper's nest – making her decide, again, that something in the last three days had broken her brain – and she wondered what the sniper might've thought of them. She doubted they'd ever started shooting at a pair of strangers only to have them open fire on each other in response.

Then again, they'd likely never come across someone like Nate before. She hadn't.

He seemed hesitant, and it made her arch an eyebrow. "Look, I like to fuck around. I do. But we're in a-" He made a quick glance to the shooter. "-fuckin' pickle here and I'm telling you, we get through this, and…" Sincerity didn't look right on him. It was strange and foreign and Amelia was certain it was false, even as the four syllables of her full first name still echoed in her head.

"…and I'll work on that first impression you got of me, okay?"

 _He doesn't mean it,_ she hissed to herself. Why would he care about what she thought of him if he didn't care whether she lived or died? As far as she could tell, the only reliable thing about him was that her feelings toward him were mutual. They were strangers. Probably both killers. Definitely both with something to hide. Beginning and end of story.

His grip on her wrist loosened, giving her a chance to level the gun at his head, which she didn't take. "We're cool, right?" No answer. Just a furrowed glare the frustrated look of a girl fed up with her own hesitation. _Do something, idiot._ _Make a choice._ "Amy…we're cool?"

He stopped waiting for an answer he'd already guessed she wasn't going to give. "I'm gonna give you this gun back now…" He spoke as slowly as he moved, releasing her hand and half-turning – just far enough that he could still keep a wary eye on her – back to make his sprint across the parking lot. "And you're gonna shoot at that guy." He pointed over his shoulder, in the general direction of the diner. " _That_ guy. Not me."

Finally, he turned. Took his eyes off of her completely and ran for cover on the other side of the parking lot. Leaving his life in her hands when she'd given him _no_ reason to think she'd do anything other than leave him for dead. Or kill him herself.

He gave her the chance anyway.

* * *

"-have to keep-"

 _-chiming church bells low and loud hollow and deep ask not for-_

"-pushing fluids or-"

 _radio static crackling white noise dead tone hello Amelia-_

"-lose her to shock-"

 _-roaring water crashing waves an island full of familiar shapes and colors-_

 _-warm water up to her waist-_

 _-hot sand beneath her soles-_

 _-waving and come join us and we missed you-_

* * *

Amelia sprinted, as quickly as she could while hunched to keep her head down. She was caught between standing upright to move faster, and staying low but spending more time out in the open. Nate hadn't given her much time to think. He caught the gun mid-air and started shooting with barely a second in between, leaving Amelia to run _now_ or risk him running out of bullets.

She regretted her choice.

She tried to pick up speed, looking up just enough to spot the far corner of the diner. The freight truck parked in the alley and the fence closing off the perimeter of the back area. She wasn't far-

 _-BANG_ -

-it was like someone had jammed a screwdriver into her shoulder and twisted, right in the soft spot where her arm connected to her body. The force was enough to knock her sideways onto the pavement, leaving her rolling onto her back and screaming at the sky, a hand pressed over the wound and blood gushing out between her fingers.

It happened fast. One second her entire reality was torn flesh and fractured bone and her heartbeat pounding in her ears and the next was her entire body being hauled across the pavement, half-lifted with an arm under one leg and half dragged by the collar of her sweatshirt for the last ten feet of open ground.

She didn't understand until she came to a stop in some hybrid of being dropped and being thrown. She landed on her wounded arm and screamed through clenched teeth as she rolled again, piecing together what had happened only after seeing him straighten up and dust off the front of his jacket. He walked past her – damn near stepped over her – lifting one bent arm to rotate the joint of his shoulder like he might have pulled something.

She hadn't had the time, hadn't recovered quickly enough to filter through the pain and find rational thought, to think clearly enough to move, get out, take cover. So Nate had done it for her.

She pushed herself up onto her knees – and knew immediately that she didn't want to stay like this – just long enough to move herself up against the building. She pressed her back to the brick wall of the diner and wondered, of all things, not _what the hell_ but _why the hell_. She needed to understand despite the fact that it was over.

Repayment of a favor, maybe. Not for choosing not to shoot him, something she knew was far from a favor. But for staying.

No. That kind of gesture involved too much sentiment for him. That much she could already tell.

She told herself not to ask and did it anyway, out of breath and her nose sniffling like she'd been crying. Which she had, technically, but she maintained a rigid belief that bullet wounds didn't count. Not that she'd ever been shot before.

"Why did you do that?" It came out sounding accusatory, her tone pushed into harsh territory by throbbing pain and her impatience to make it go away.

He ignored her and kept walking. Didn't even look back.

She almost pushed it. She was sorely tempted to raise her voice and throw him a _hey, I'm talking to you_ and maybe call him _asshole_ again just out of habit. Instead she bit her lip and let her head fall back against the brick wall of the diner, and she said nothing while he looked over the fence leading to its back door. She wasn't demure or docile or even that kind anymore, but even she knew when to stop.

Stars were beginning to dot the night sky, she noticed as she stared upward. She hoped they'd distract her from the indignation and guilt having a head-on collision inside her chest. They didn't.

 _Don't say it don't say it just shut up-_

"Thank you." She mumbled, just loudly enough that there was a chance he heard her, but it wasn't a sure thing. Either would have suited her. She glared at the ground between her feet, clutching her open shoulder and trying to hold the wound closed. It wasn't comfortable, showing gratitude and losing blood at the same time. Sitting on the ground with one useless arm while remembering she'd held him at gunpoint – fired off a fucking warning shot in his ear – and knowing he did what he did anyway. She needed something, anything to water down the sincerity. "Whatever." It was weak, and transparent, but it made her feel better.

He glanced back over his shoulder, just far enough to make her sure he'd heard.

She stopped counting minutes after the first three. She knew it didn't take that long to check out a fence. After another two ticked by, he came back to the brick wall. She felt the window of her grace period closing as he crouched in front of her and lowered his voice like either of them had something to be secretive about.

"Hey. Ames. You, uh, wanna get up?"

"Go away." Her voice was quiet, but she meant it.

"Gotta be honest. You're bein' a huge puss right now."

She flipped him the finger, one coated in blood.

She meant that, too. With every part of her being, she meant it. She knew he'd just rescued her, at great risk to himself. She knew he'd handled this situation better than she ever would have alone, and she knew people who seemed irredeemable weren't always that way, but she meant it. _Fuck. You._

He grinned, and before she could see it coming and make any threats – she had one about breaking his fingers chambered and ready – he raised an arm and gave her a solid _whack_ on her good shoulder. She felt it in the bad one.

"There she is." He stood and turned, apparently not about to wait for her to take her time getting up. "Come on. We got more work to do."

 _I shouldn't have come with you._

 _It's too fucking late now._

She watched him leave, headed for the fence and prepared to jump it. She could follow him or walk back out into the line of fire.

She regretted her choice, and would regret her next one just as much.

* * *

She stared straight up. Cold, dull metal was both beneath her body and far above it. She could hear voices, every one of them familiar.

The lighting was dull – or maybe it was just her colors draining again – and occasionally the entire room would lurch. Jar forward or to one side. After a while she realized the floor was rumbling beneath her.

One voice came through, distant and from the bottom of a metal trash can. Not directed at her but one she could hear all the same because, as usual, it was far louder than the rest.

"…get out of here…idea how fucked we are…"

She'd missed him while she was gone, she thought.

She remembered she hadn't gone anywhere. Not really.

* * *

She was laid out on a dinner table. Feet braced against the overstuffed and artificial red vinyl of the booth on either side of it. A pair of needle-nosed pliers an inch and a half inside her shoulder, and pushing deeper by a single centimeter at a time.

Her eyes stung. She was sure they were bloodshot red - some combination of tears running out and sweat running in – while she gritted her teeth and breathed unevenly. She clenched her fists, and when that didn't work, she flexed her fingers like rigid claws, grasping at nothing but ready to crush the first thing unfortunate enough to wander into her grip.

Nate had assured her he knew how to do this. Or at least that he'd done it before. Not that either was reassuring. She'd given him the pliers, hesitant to put them in his hands and reconsidering whether she'd be better off self-operating. He stopped to hold it in the flame of a lighter for a ten-count, _gotta sterilize it first, Amy, don't be an idiot-_

 _-God forbid she catch some kind of raging infection, maybe one that knocks her unconscious for a day and forces her to vomit tar when she woke-_

She could swear she felt it scraping against bone. Chipping pieces off like enamel from a broken tooth, each one buried in her deltoid like shrapnel.

She was going to kill him. Never mind that he'd helped her and _was_ helping her, that was a distant memory compared to searing pain that was as perpetual as it was unbearable. Excruciating. Infuriating. If she had to listen to him mumble to himself about _almost got it_ and _slippery fucker isn't it_ for one more fucking second she was going to rip the tool from his hands and plant it in his chest.

" _Are you-"_

Nate ripped the pliers out without warning and her scream buried her words.

"Gotcha!"

The rest of her threat disappeared, escaping her airway in a shaking sigh. She laid her head down flat, breathing deeply and appreciating that the pain was now dull and slow rather than immediate and vindictive. Her arm was numb below the elbow. She wasn't sure whether to call it a good or a bad thing.

Nate turned the pliers over, squeezing a single bronze bullet – blunted at the tip – between its points. Amelia watched from the table, trying to read his thoughts knowing that it was a game she couldn't win, not because it had too many rules but because it had none. Unwinnable to anyone who didn't think like he did.

He held the pliers out to her, as red and slick with her blood as the round crushed in their grip. "Souvenir?"

She expected a smile, a preemptive snort at his own joke. He only looked at her with a straight face. The raised eyebrows of someone who'd just asked a genuine question. She blinked slowly, drained literally and metaphorically and for once, at a loss for anything to say other than undiplomatic honesty. "What's wrong with you?"

If he thought she was talking about the two fresh corpses in the room – and she was – he didn't show it. He took it to mean what it sounded like she meant, shrugged at the bullet in his hands and flung it across the room, launching it from the pliers' grip like he was skipping a stone across the surface of a pond. It bounced along the linoleum and rolled to a stop in the far corner.

Not far from where he'd piled the bodies.

An old couple. Probably married for longer than Amelia had been alive. Still dressed like someone's grandparents; in four months of chaos they still hadn't thrown out the floral tops and sweaters and khaki for more practical clothes, like most everyone else. They weren't any kind of threat, once the rifle was confiscated. Not to people like her and Nate.

He'd shot them both in the neck anyway. Then in the head, to keep them from coming back.

"Relax, Amy." He'd said. The cracking of gunfire still thrummed in her ears, not at all like the shots that had been aimed at two of them. Not even like the one that nailed her in the arm. The smell of gunpowder lighting up still burned in her nose and clung there like something morbid and disgusting. Like seared rubber or burning flesh. "The shit part's over. Things are gonna be A-okay."

The blood was starting to pool beneath them.

 _It's too fucking late now._

She could have moved faster. Could have snatched the gun from his hands, knocked it away. Anything would have been better than nothing. But she'd done just that – nothing – because she didn't think he'd do it. Not that quickly, not that easily. Even after he suggested in a tone _identical_ to the one he'd used to suggest pulling over to look for gas and supplies. Like there was no difference between what they'd come here to do and what they did.

It didn't take him long to leave the dining area, telling her something about checking out all their new supplies. She was up from the table the moment the swinging door shut behind him, reaching for whatever she could grab on the way out like the building was burning. She managed to shoulder a backpack she didn't bother to open – she had no idea what was inside but hoped for something useful – and a red gasoline canister that, she found when she picked it up, was half-full. Every move was as quiet as she could make it, but she reached a point where she found speed more compelling than silence and ran straight for the front doors, whispering her goodbyes and good riddances under her breath.

She hoped Nate had forgotten he'd left the keys in the ignition.

Either way, she knew he'd remember when he heard the engine turn over. She peeled out of the parking lot and onto the straight stretch of empty road. She wondered if he was watching from the window as she did. She didn't look back, but a part of her knew the answer.


End file.
